


Belle's Big Valentine's Day Surprise

by AnnieVH



Series: Don't Come Back [15]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-08-13 13:39:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7978693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnieVH/pseuds/AnnieVH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rumple and Belle have an interesting week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Monday

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: past domestic abuse (including psychological, verbal and sexual), past child abuse, terrible parenting all around. Anti-Milah, anti-Malcolm. Rated mature just for safety.
> 
> Verse: Don’t Come Back, a Behind Closed Doors remix
> 
> Beta: MaddieBonanaFana

There was something wrong with Belle. It might be arrogant of him to claim that he knew her after only one week, but he couldn't shake the feeling that she looked bothered. It was hard to catch a smile on her lips, given that she worked for Malcolm Gold, but she usually seemed softer in the morning, especially after seeing Bae.

This morning, it didn't seem to relax her one bit.

“Is everything alright?” he asked her, when Bae left the breakfast table to go brush his teeth.

Belle looked over her shoulder as she ventured into a pile of dirty dishes that Malcolm seemed to have accumulated especially for her.

“Yes,” she told him, automatically. “I'm tired because of the weekend.”

“Did you have fun?”

“I did.”

Rumple gathered the left overs from breakfast and stored what he could in plastic containers. His father might be providing most of the food, but that didn't mean he'd start wasting it now. He then eyed the pile of dirty dishes Belle was working on. If he'd seen it the night before, he'd have cleaned it before she came in.

“Don't even think about it,” Belle warned him, once she caught him looking.

“I know, I know.”

“Lets just hope I'll be done by the time we have to leave. If you don't mind going together?”

“Going together?” Malcolm asked, walking into the kitchen already dressed for the day, but looking somewhat drowsy from sleep. “Don't tell me you've got yourself a new girlfriend already, Junior? Are you taking Miss French to the movies?”

Malcolm smiled at him, full of mockery.

Rumple didn't laugh. Belle didn't even bother turning around.

“I'm driving their van,” Rumple explained, making his father raise his eyebrows.

“You're their delivery boy?” he asked, not less amused.

“As long as you have no objections,” Rumple said, taut as a wire, ready for his father to produce some obscure fine print from his contract that forbade him from working for Moe French.

But Malcolm just shrugged. “Not at all, Junior. It _suits_ you. But you better make sure he pays _beforehand_. Belle already has enough work clearing one of her daddy's debts.”

There was a loud clang when Belle practically threw a spoon in the sink and started turning around to say something – something defensive and smart and very, very stupid. Rumple held her by the shoulder to stop her before she even had the chance to open her mouth and said, “I'm sure we won't have any problems.” The defensiveness in his voice was palpable. It made his father grin and Belle relax.

“You're probably right.” To Belle, he said, “I'll have breakfast in my study. Hurry up, my dear.”

“Right away, Mr. Gold,” she recited, a well-trained parrot.

“He sure gets in a _special_ mood around Valentine's Day, doesn't he?” Rumple asked, once his father left.

“I wouldn't know,” she told him, leaving the dishes aside to prepare a breakfast tray. “I wasn't working here last year. Though I think having someone over on Saturday is bound to improve his mood.”

Rumple shuddered. “Yes, that. Speaking of which, Bae finally asked me about the school dance.”

“Will you let him go?”

“I told him I'll think about it, but yes. If dad is bringing a lady friend over, I don't want him anywhere near this place.”

Belle gave him a sympathetic smile. “Thin walls?”

Rumple shook his head noncommittally. He wished thin-walls were the only issue.

“So you're going to tell him yes?” she asked, sensitive enough to drop the subject.

“He practically begged me to let him go, and I don't like it, but what choice do I have? I'll let him know when I pick him up today.”

“Did he tell you who he's going to ask?”

“Apparently, he's just gonna go with a couple of friends. I suppose that's one less thing to worry about.”

“He has friends already? That's nice.”

“A couple. Literally. A Chinese girl and an Irish boy.”

“You mean Mulan and Graham?”

Rumple nodded. “Yes, I think that's it.”

“Oh, they're really nice kids,” Belle told him, leaving the tray aside.

There was a weight lifted off his shoulders that Rumple didn't even know was there. Nice kids. Good, that was good.

“Really?”

“Yes. They only do drugs for recreational purposes.”

Rumple snapped his head in her direction, but then he caught her laughing.

“You're joking.”

“I'm joking.”

“Don't do that,” he sighed.

“Sorry. They're good kids, Rumple. You have nothing to worry about. And you know what, Mulan's dad teaches self-defense, so I think Bae is in safe hands.”

“Is that why she's obsessed with swords?”

“Could be. Her dad is a collector.”

“Is Graham a black belt too? Or does he prefer the bow and arrow?”

“Graham is a sweetheart,” Belle said, her voice turning sweet. “His mother is the kindest person you'll ever meet. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if Bae spent the night over. You should ask her.”

“What about the father?”

“Out of the picture.”

Rumple nodded, but didn’t press for information.

After a couple of minutes of silence, Belle said, “Well, it seems that we've exhausted all our topics of conversation. What are we going to do when we're stuck in that van together?”

“You wouldn't want me babbling all night,” he said, with a shrug.

“I don't know, so far I've found you to be good company.”

The corners of his mouth twitched, trying to make him smile, but he held them down. At least someone didn't mind his presence.

 

*

 

Even though she hadn't seen him all day, Belle was painfully aware that Gaston was back in town, ready to show up at any moment and complicate her life, just the way he liked to do. He'd probably come up with a plan to win her back on Valentine's Day. Last year, he'd procured a rare first edition of one of her favorite books, _Around the World in 80 Days_ , and had it delivered to her house. Belle had found the gift to be thoughtful and was truly impressed that Gaston remembered how much she loved Julius Verne – that is, until she opened the book and discovered he'd completely ruined the gesture by carving a hole in the middle of it and gluing the pages together to turn her precious first edition into a jewelry box. Diamond earrings lied at the bottom, along with a note that read: _I thought these would look lovely on you_. The earrings, as well as the box, now belonged to Ruby.

Ever since, he'd sent her expensive birthday and Christmas presents, along with invitations to dinner and random love letters. Belle had returned what she could, and passed on what he wouldn't take back. But Valentine's Day had always been his holiday, and given last year's failure, he was bound to step it up a notch. A thousand roses? Yes, that made sense. It also explained why he'd come to see her father to begin with. He wasn't just looking for an ally, he needed a supplier.

If Belle could, she'd confront Moe about it, but he was nowhere in sight when she'd woken up that morning, and Jaq had told her he'd left him in charge of the flower shop. Clearly, he wasn't ready to talk yet. Moe didn't like to be reminded that Belle was paying for a debt that had his name on it.

She knew exactly what her mother would've said, had she been there.

“You shouldn't have thrown that in his face, sweetheart. You know how proud he is. And of course he appreciates what you're doing for him, he's just not good at showing it.”

Belle knew that, and given the extreme situation they'd found themselves in at the time, she didn't resent him for coming to Gold, but sometimes her frustration got the best of her. Going behind her back and colluding with her ex-boyfriend didn’t seem very appreciative, though. She only wished he'd stop encouraging him.

The situation with Gaston and the awkward conversation she was bound to have with her father was enough to make her glad that she was locked inside Gold's house all day. Although, today, Gold was behaving like a saint, in comparison. Maybe Valentine's Day did put him in a good mood. Or at least, the perspective of sex did. Belle didn't know the name of his new lady friend, but the rumor mill had it in good authority that Gold had already grown tired of the Christmas girlfriend and was pursuing someone else. No one commented on the age of his lovers anymore, since early twenties was the standard. No one expected the new girlfriend to last either. They never did.

Belle wondered if he'd even married Rumple's mother. He didn't seem like the kind of man who thought highly of commitment, let alone marriage. Perhaps that was the reason why father and son didn't get along: he'd abandoned Rumple's mother after she'd gotten pregnant and barely saw his son ever since. That made sense. Belle couldn't imagine Malcolm Gold changing diapers or singing lullabies to a baby.

Monday went by uneventfully. Gold locked himself in his study and didn't call for her for the rest of the day, not even to check on her progress. By the time Rumple and Bae arrived, she'd been done with her chores.

“Hey, guys!” she greeted when she saw them in the foyer.

Bae barely looked at her before rushing upstairs. “Hey Belle, I'll be in my room.”

“You should eat something,” she shouted after him, before his father had the chance to say the same thing.

“I'm not hungry!”

She turned to Rumple with an amused look on her face. “A teenage boy who doesn't eat and always does his homework? You hit the jackpot.”

“Don't I know it?” he said. “I think he just wants to see what he'll wear to the dance.”

“Ah, so Baelfire shall go to the ball.”

“Just as long as he doesn't bring Princess Charming home until he's thirty.”

Belle laughed.

“I just have to change my shirt, and we can leave,” he said.

“Uhn...” Belle eyed the door to Gold's study down the hall. Technically, she still had a couple of hours to go, but since he seemed to be in such a... not so terrible mood today... “Just let me check.”

Rumple limped up the stairs and Belle went into the study, bracing herself for bad news. If Gold has been sitting quietly in his study all day that could only mean a last minute demand was about to happen. Something like scrubbing all toilets a second time, or redoing the dishes.

“Sir,” she asked, trying her best not to look eager. “I've finished all my chores for the day. Would you mind if I left now? I can come in earlier-”

“Not at all, Belle. You can go.”

Belle frowned. “Really?”

“Yes, go.”

He shooed her away with a hand.

Belle waited. The punchline was about to come up at any moment.

Gold, poised on his armchair as he examined a piece of paper, circling numbers, looked up at her. “Weren't you leaving?”

Belle stood by the door, a worrisome feeling nibbling at the back of her mind. This was way too easy.

Gold raised an eyebrow at her.

But then again, she knew better than to tempt her luck, so she excused herself by thanking him and went to change into her regular clothes. They could get an early start on the flower delivery.

 

*

 

Rumple showed up downstairs wearing a suit, which didn't surprise her one bit. Even though father and son had nothing in common, it seemed that the Golds liked to dress their best.

“You're a formal driver,” she remarked, making him shrug.

“No excuse for sloppiness. Ready to go?”

Even though they could've walked, Belle suggested they took the bus, fearing his leg might not appreciate a thirty-minute walk followed by a few hours of driving. Belle tried to fill the silence with more questions about Baelfire and what she quickly labeled his first big social event.

“Did he tell you about any girls he likes? Did he ever go to a dance? I bet he's going to have fun.”

But noticing that the subject only made Rumple squirm, she changed the topic to the public transportation system of Storybrooke, a switch that he seemed to appreciate immensely. The less he had to think about the dance, the better.

Moe was waiting for them when they walked into the shop.

“Hey, dad,” Belle greeted, her tone neutral.

Moe made an effort to smile at his daughter in that way Belle was very familiar with. _No hard feelings, but we're not talking about it_. Then, he shoved the keys into Rumple's hands.

“Whatever happens to that van is coming out of your paycheck.”

“I'm sorry dad is such an ogre,” Belle said, once they got to the garage, where Jaq was loading the flowers into the back of the van.

“I don't mind. Besides, I've never scratched a single delivery van in my life, and I'm not about to start tonight.”

He offered her the tiniest smile, almost proud of himself, and Belle nodded in approval.

“Confidence. Seems like I'm in good hands.”

 


	2. Tuesday

“Seven?” Rumple asked, baffled.

Belle nodded, “Yup. Seven. Last year it was only five, though.”

“But how does that even work? Surely he knows these women talk to each other.”

“Dr. Whale is not very bright when it comes to relationships.”

“I'll say.” Rumple shook his head. “Seven different women. What does he think he'll accomplish by doing that?”

“I assume that he believes one will be thankful for the bouquet and agree to a date.”

“And the other six...”

“The other six are throwing the flowers in the garbage disposal, usually before I'm done reading the card out loud.”

“Does he at least write a different message on each-”

“Ha!”

“Thought so.”

Belle sorted through the cards, putting them in order. “Oh god.”

“What is it?”

“Ana and Alice are neighbors.” Rumple saw a spark of mischief in her eyes. “I think I'll ring both doorbells at the same time. To save time, that is.”

“I'll keep the van running in case things go south.”

“Well, look at you!” she said, approvingly. “Who'd have thought you'd turn out to be such a great partner in crime?”

“Careful, it's only Tuesday,” he warned her. “You might regret your words by Thursday night.”

However, Rumple was feeling optimistic. Last night, things had gone even more smoothly than he'd anticipated. Belle was not only a good boss, but also a lovely companion. He'd had several delivery jobs in the past, mostly for catering services, and somehow he seemed to get stuck in cars with bitter, middle-aged man more often than not. On good days, they wouldn't say a word; on bad days, they'd rant on for hours about politics, or terrible clients, or, if they learned where Rumple had come from, about how immigrants were taking over the country.

Belle didn't seem to care for any of that, instead focusing on the list of names and addresses in front of her.

“We should stop by Ruby first. I've one another one for her,” she told him. “No, scratch that, I've got... three more for Ruby. And tomorrow I bet that number will double.”

“Your friend sure is popular,” Rumple said, remembering the sultry brunette that came to greet them at the van the night before, leaning into Belle's window to take two bouquets of red roses, and a sunflower arrangement.

“Are any of these from Whale?” she'd asked, regarding her flowers the same way one might regard a badge of honor.

“I think he learned his lesson after you nearly bit his head off last year.”

“What, he's not even trying to win my heart back? How disappointing.” Her eyes had locked on Rumple, who'd been sitting silently behind the wheel. “And you must be Gold's son.”

Ruby had seemed more curious than hostile, so he replied with a careful, “Evening.”

“People are starting to talk about you, you know?” she'd told him.

Ruby spoke with a flirt in her words, though Rumple was sure she always talked in that tempting, warm way, with a threat hiding right behind the glint of her teeth. He could see why so many men tried to pursue her. Ruby seemed to be the perfect mixture of inviting and unattainable. The kind of girl Aunt Violet had once warned him against.

Milah had once been like that.

“So you're living in Gold's house,” she continued. “That must be nice. With a maid and all.”

“She's not really my maid,” he'd said, and Ruby's flirting grin turned into a welcoming one.

“You seem cool. You can drive my best friend around.”

Rumple had blinked at her, confused. “Uhn... thank you?

“You better thank me. I don't just let anyone do that, you know?” With that, she'd leaned in and given her friend a kiss on the cheek. “See ya, hon. Have fun.”

“Your friend seems protective,” Rumple had said, once he started the van.

“Yeah, I pity the guy who wants to ask for my hand in marriage. If Moe French doesn't tear him to pieces, Ruby Lucas certainly will.”

She'd then proceeded to tell funny anecdotes about her youthful misadventures with Ruby, stories about being in places where they were not supposed to be, doing things their parents had explicitly forbidden. What most people would call “normal teenage stuff”, he realized with a sense of dread, his thoughts quickly turning to Baelfire, as they always did. He could only hope Bae had already gotten that rebellious streak out of his system.

 

*

 

Belle came back from Ana and Alice's building with a satisfied smile on her lips. “They're shredding the flowers together. Don't you just love it when women stick together?”

“A happy ending indeed. Where to next?”

“Mary Margaret's. You know, Bae's teacher.”

“Didn't we give her flowers already?” he said, trying not to flinch as he remembered a friendly-looking woman who'd tried to kidnap both of them for dinner the night before, claiming that she knew all of her students' parents and that it was a shame they hadn't had the time to talk yet.

“Yes. Her fiance has this tradition where he brings her a rose every day of the week until Valentine's Day. But since he's on duty, that task falls on our shoulders. And yes,” she added, seeing the look on her face, “at some point you'll have to accept her invitation.”

“I'm not good with teachers,” he confessed.

“I can't see how. Bae seems to be a wonderful boy. Who wouldn't want to spend an evening listening good things about their child?”

That did sound lovely. Unfortunately, most meetings with Bae's teachers seemed to consist of questions he couldn't answer.

“ _Your wife had an altercation with one of our monitors today, Mr. Gold. I just want to make sure this won't happen again.”_

“ _As you can see, this worries me. Children don't usually draw their fathers crying, and this isn't an isolated event.”_

“ _Your son is a bright boy, Mr. Gold, I just don't understand why he's falling behind. Is everything alright at home?”_

Rumple could see Mary Margaret, her heart-shaped face turning sweet and comforting as she prepared him a cup of tea. “Tell me about Neal, Mr. Cassidy. I understand that his mother didn't come to town with you. Do you mind if I ask where she is?”

_I don't know, Miss Blanchard, and I'm much happier like this._

“Oh, no,” Belle sighed, the cheerfulness on her face succumbing to something akin to panic.

“What is it? More neighbors?”

“No. The next one is Kathryn.”

“Friend of yours?”

“It's not that.”

He waited for her to elaborate. She didn't.

“You look a little pale,” he said.

“I'm being silly.” Belle shook her head. “Yes, I'm being silly. We'll just have to do this quickly. And it's the last delivery, anyway.”

 

*

 

Kathryn lived only a few blocks away from his father's house, in one of the nicest parts of town, and he wondered if that was why Belle had become so tense beside him, her eyes scavenging the streets as he drove slowly towards the neighborhood. The brownstones were replaced by nice houses and the storefronts became white-picket fences and snow covered gardens.

“I'm sure we'll have a lovely spring,” he said, instantly feeling foolish for the remark. He'd already realized that Belle had the gift of talking about anything for as long as necessary, her words flowing naturally, as if her speech had been prepared and studied the night before, rather than improvised. In two days, she'd talked about herself, about her friends, about flowers, about the people in town, and about her favorite books. She'd even gone as far as to offer to lend him a copy _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_ because how dare he go as far as _The Half-Blood Prince_ and give up the series then and there?

Yes, Belle could talk about anything.

And all he'd managed was a passing remark on the weather to fill the silence left by her voice.

“Hm?” she asked, eyes still beyond her window. “What did you say?”

“I just said- It doesn't matter.”

Sometimes, he thought it was best to listen to Milah and just say nothing at all.

_You sound smarter when you just shut up._

“No, no, you should keep it running,” she told him when he turned off the van in front of Kathryn's house. “I'd rather do this as fast as I- _oh, crap, go, go, go_!”

Before Rumple could translate Belle's desperate muttering into “You need to start the car again and get us out of here as fast as is humanly possible,” someone shoved his head through his open window, startling him, and said, “Well, isn't that a coincidence!”

Belle, half-slid down her seat where she could barely be seen, sighed deeply because she couldn't outright say _“too late_ ”.

The young man, who leaned so far in through the window he might as well just open the door and get on the driver's seat, appeared to be around her age, which explained why Rumple couldn't seem to recognize him. He was probably a child by the time he left Storybrooke. He was very handsome and seemed to be aware of that. His smile sparkled in the dark, despite the dimly-lit street, and his shoulder took all the space inside the window frame. He looked at Belle like he knew her, though Belle seemed more than ready to be swallowed by the earth.

“Is he a friend of yours, Belle?” Rumple asked, his lips barely moving. If Belle said “no” and it fell onto his shoulders to get rid of the stranger, it'd probably not end up well. If living with Milah for nearly fifteen years had taught him anything was that he didn't stand a chance in physical confrontations.

Belle said, “This is my ex-boyfriend.”

The boy's smile doubled in size, but he aimed it at Rumple now. “Gaston Légume,” he introduced himself, not bothering to offer Rumple his hand. “You must be Gold's son.”

Rumple replied with a tense, “Yes,” but didn't volunteer his first name. Somehow, he knew he wouldn't like the sound of it on Gaston's lips.

“Belle told me you were driving the van. She's a moody old girl, isn't she?” he said, slapping a massive hand on the door of the van.

“It's alright.”

“I've driven it before, isn't that right, Belle?”

Belle said, “You did,” but didn't sit up on her seat again, still looking to any passerby like she was trying her best to become invisible. Gaston didn't seem to notice.

“Yeah, that stick always gets stuck, doesn't it?” he asked.

Rumple waited. When Gaston didn't rant on, he answered, “I guess.”

“It's not for everybody. No surprise Belle can't drive it.”

“I _can_ drive it,” Belle protested, from her hideout. “I just don't like to.”

“C'mon! Remember the parking meters?” He laughed. “Not that I'm judging. This isn't easy for a woman. Though I'm surprised, Gold.” He gave the van a look over. “Not a single bump. Good for you.”

Rumple could hear something being implied. Something that made his blood simmer and his face heat up and his mouth shut tight instantly because talking back in anger had never led him anywhere.

“How's the delivery going, Gold?” Gaston asked, smiling just inches from his face. He wished the boy would step back. This proximity made him feel trapped.

“Fine,” he answered. Gaston seemed unimpressed with that.

“Yeah? Making good time?” he stretched his neck to peek at the back of the van. “Seems like you're just about done.”

“We're great, Gaston, thank you for asking,” Belle said, finally getting the strength to push herself up. “But we're still far from done and we should get going.”

“Who's the proud receiver of that lovely bouquet?”

“Mary Margaret,” Belle said, shoving Kathryn's flowers in the back, along with the card.

“Did she move to this part of town?”

“We just took a wrong turn. We're leaving now.”

“Don't know your way around, huh?” He smacked a hand on Rumple's chest in what might have passed for a friendly gesture. His bones seemed to rattle with the strength of the impact. “Don't feel bad, Gold. You'll get the hang of it.”

Rumple answered, “Thank you,” regretting the words as soon as they left his mouth.

“Don't you live around here, Gold? With your dad?”

“I don't think this is your business, Gaston,” Belle answered, rather aggressively.

Gaston didn't budge. “I was only going to offer to take over. I mean, if he's so tired he's losing his way, maybe it's time he goes home to his father.”

“I'm fine,” Rumple muttered.

“Of course, you could still keep your wages. Belle said you need-”

“ _Gaston_!” she all but shouted.

“Though that sounds strange to me that you people need money,” he continued. “Don't tell me daddy dearest is keeping tabs on her now.”

“I'm doing my friend a favor,” Rumple managed to say, daring to look him in the eye.

That seemed to catch him off guard, but he recovered in a heartbeat.

“You can't be friends with your maid, buddy,” he said, dropping the friendly tone. “Especially given the way you treat her.”

“Right, that's it!”

Belle threw herself over Rumple to reach for the lever on his door. He let go of the wheel to make way for her, lifting her hands up. Even Gaston seemed surprised enough to take a step back. Belle turned the lever frantically, closing the window without so much as a good night.

“Screw the flowers,” Belle said. “Get us out of here.”

She didn't have to say it twice. Rumple started the van and sped up.

 

 


	3. Wednesday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anon prompted: Belle's fashion on Valentine's Day (or Saturday, the day of the school dance) is far from romantic, feminine or sexy.

To the best of his ability, Moe tried to keep most of Colette's traditions alive, with varying results. The cakes he and Belle baked together on birthdays never seemed to be as sweet and the decoration was so sloppy they invariably ended up laughing at their efforts in the kitchen. Movie nights were still a favorite of Belle's, as were Moe's monthly trips to the library – he didn't like to read as much as Colette did, but he loved to listen to his daughter talk about books. Belle wasn't sure they would ever have another Christmas dinner in her house, though. Last year, they'd barely gotten around to buying a tree and Christmas lights before deciding that going to Granny and Ruby's might be the new tradition they needed to get through the end of the year.

Belle didn't think he'd do anything for Valentine's Day either, but Moe was waiting for her at the breakfast table with a red package in his hands. She knew what it was and her heart felt a stab of sorrow just before it was overflown with gratitude.

“It's alright if you don't want it,” he told her, his voice verging on apologetic. She wondered if that was because of the gift or because of their fight.

A part of her actually wanted to say no, that she appreciated the gesture and that she knew he was trying his best, but that it would just be too painful. This was hers and her mother's Valentine's Day tradition because it'd always been Colette's favorite holiday and it felt wrong to do it now that she was gone. After all, everything else had changed. They wouldn't work together in the van this year, they wouldn't have a special mother-daughter lunch to talk about the latest romance Belle was reading, and Colette wouldn't put on her best dress for date night later that evening.

But at the same time, the last thing her mother would have wanted was for Belle to come to resent Valentine's Day. She took her present from his hands and unwrapped it. Colette always gave her a new jumper, fitting for the season, but charming and tasteful. Light colors, mostly, with something discreet to indicate that the day of love was upon them. The year before, she'd chosen a white jumper with a single heart silhouetted over the left shoulder and Belle had loved the gift then just as much as when she was a little girl.

Moe didn't have Colette's impeccable taste when it came to clothes, nor her subtlety, having chosen a red sweater with the word LOVE knitted into a pattern of white hearts, but Belle hugged it to her chest nonetheless. Maybe it was time for a new tradition. She could find him a matching jumper. They'd be a tacky father-daughter team, in it together, no matter what.

“Do you like it?” Moe asked. “I know it's not what your mother would've chosen, but I have no idea what girls like these days-”

“It's perfect, daddy, thank you.”

Belle threw her arms around him, grateful to still have him in her life.

“You're welcome, sweetheart,” he said, hugging her back with his massive arms, squeezing her in that protective way of his.

“Maybe I can make us dinner tonight?” she suggested.

“You want to cook dinner for your dad on Valentine's Day? That is just sad, Belle,” he chuckled.

“Not like I have a date.” She saw him looking at her, doing his best not to say it, but clearly yearning to. “Please don't mention Gaston.”

“I won't,” he said. “But you have to admit he's a better option than spending the night with your old man.”

Belle rolled her eyes. “After what he did last night, he'll be lucky if I don't get a restraining order.” She let go of her father and went to look at herself in the mirror. She shoved the jumper over her pajamas. It was a little oversized, so unlike what Colette would've chosen that it kind of made the situation funny.

Funny jumpers.

Yes, she could get behind that new tradition. Mom would've approved.

“I promise I won't say anything else on the matter,” Moe said, as Belle pulled her hair back, imagining a million ways of making that ugly jumper work. “Just this one thing-”

“Dad-”

“Gaston can be an idiot boy sometimes.”

Belle raised an eyebrow. That was new.

“You might not think so,” he continued, “but I don't approve of everything that he does.”

“But?”

“But he comes from a good family, and he's going to have a future. A _real_ future. Something that doesn't involve a small business in an even smaller town.”

“You have a small business in an even smaller town,” Belle replied. “I think we're doing okay.”

Moe didn't soften at that.

“I made a deal with the devil so that your mother could have a comfortable death, Belle,” he told her, his tone so harsh that Belle stopped examining herself in the mirror and looked at him.

“Don't say that,” she pleaded.

“It's true. And I know you don't want to think of it because you're only twenty two and you don't understand these things yet, but some day you will need a man who can provide the best for you. Someone who will stand by your side. And Gaston is willing to be that man. And it would give me some peace of mind if you at least considered it.”

Belle could feel something angry trying to rise up her throat, but she held it down. She understood where her father was coming from, even though she hated every word of it. The last two years had been hard on her, but they had been worse on him. There was nothing he hated more than knowing he couldn't provide for his family, except maybe knowing that he couldn't protect his daughter. If Gold hadn't wanted a pretty thing to look at in a skimpy outfit, Moe would've offered himself as his caretaker and allowed Belle to go on with her life.

So she tried to be patient.

“Daddy, I know you worry,” she told him. “But we don't need Gaston and his money.”

“Belle-” he tried. Belle didn't let him finish.

“We're doing fine! _I'm_ doing fine. You'll see. Before we know it, this will be over and things will go back to normal.” She turned to the mirror again. “I'll get a real job, save up for college, and it will be like that horrible man never came into our lives.”

Moe sighed. “Yes, sweetheart, I'm sure you're right.”

Belle still tried to smile in a reassuring way. “Now, what skirt do you think will go better with my lovely new jumper?”

 

*

 

Rumple stumbled into the kitchen with bags under his eyes and trembling hands. He needed coffee. Several cups of it. He'd barely gotten two hours of sleep. In fact, he couldn't remember having a night that bad in at least a month. Despite the situation with his father and the mattress as thin as paper, his sleep pattern had returned to five hours, which was more than enough. However, the moment he'd arrived home, he knew he was in for a sleepless night. The encounter with Belle's friend had left him rattled, so much so that he could barely muster a “Goodnight, Belle,” when he dropped her and the van off at the flower shop. Belle had forced a smile on her face, her silent way of saying goodbye. She hadn't spoken a word since he sped away in the van, trying to put as much distance as possible between them and that intrusive boy.

When he went to give his son a kiss, Bae had taken one look at his face and decided, “You don't look good.” By then, he'd learned what apprehension looked like in his father's eyes. When Rumple replied that he was fine, just tired, Bae hadn't bought it either.

“Did anything happen?” His eyes had doubled in size. “Did you see mom?”

“No, it's nothing to do with your mother,” he'd answered, and though everything came down to Milah these days, this time he was telling the truth. What he was feeling right now had nothing to do with her, he only wished it did.

He'd been naive. He'd actually thought that Milah was the only thing to worry about out there, the only one who could harm him and Bae, but that was not true. The problem was not her, it was _him_. They were in this situation because he was weak. He couldn't stand up for himself, or for those he loved. He was the kind of man who'd shrink away and allow a _boy_ to harass a sweet girl like Belle. She'd been so humiliated, he could read it all over her face. Yet, he hadn't done a thing.

 _I don't think she wants to talk to you_ , that's what he should've said. _I don't think she wants to talk to you, so you better leave_.

He shouldn't have stayed quiet.

He shouldn't have allowed Milah to chase them out of town.

He should've have said something.

_You can't do this. I won't let you._

But he had let her. Just like he'd let her dictate their lives for fourteen years. Because he wasn't a brave man. He wasn't a man at all. He'd rather beg for mercy and lick someone's boot than to push back.

He'd rather run to daddy.

“Coffee, I need the coffee, and I need the mug,” he muttered. Saying the words out loud would help calm him down.

He wasn't sure what had kept him awake, whether it'd been the nightmares or the guilt or the torrent of bad thoughts, but he couldn't keep his eyes shut last night. He'd even kept the bedside lamp on, something his father would mock him merciless for if he caught a glimpse of the light beneath his door. But even that hadn't been of much comfort. Every other hour, he'd wake up in a cold sweat and, god, he could _feel_ her in his bed, he could see her eyes looking at him with such despise-

“I just need coffee,” he repeated. “A good cup of coffee and everything will be alright-”

“Happy Valentine's Day.”

Though Belle hadn't shouted, he still jumped, the sound of shattering ceramic replacing the scream he'd managed to suppress.

“Sorry,” she said, looking truly guilty. “I thought you heard the door.”

“I didn't,” he panted.

“I'll just-” She looked ready to pick up the pieces of the mug, but he waved her away.

“Leave it, I'll clean it up.”

He knelt down before she had the chance. Rumple thought she might insist, but she didn't move.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“What?”

“You look-”

“Tired. I didn't sleep.”

Belle nodded, though she didn't seem to believe him.

“That's a nice jumper,” he said, hoping that would be enough to take the focus away from him.

“Thank you. It's part of a Valentine's Day tradition. You have to dress the part to get in the spirit of things.”

“That's nice.”

He placed the mug pieces on the counter and didn't look at her. He'd better manage a smile or at least put on a brave face, anything to cover the fact that he was on the verge of a breakdown because her ex-boyfriend had _said mean things._

 _You're a pathetic little man_ , that was what Milah used to say.

_Don't think of Milah, don't think of her, don't think of any-_

“There you go.”

He opened his eyes. Belle had placed a paper cup on the counter, next to his hand.

“Best coffee in town. Brewed by Ruby herself,” she explained.

“We have coffee,” he told her.

“Yeah, but... this one is more of an apology. For having to deal with my jerk of an ex-boyfriend.”

Rumple looked at her, over his shoulder.

“I was a bit shaken up last night, or else I'd have said it then,” she explained.

“You don't have to be sorry, Belle. You did nothing wrong.”

“Did you hear the way he spoke to you? I should've ripped his eyes out.”

“Well, I should've told him to back off myself,” Rumple said, turning around to look at her. “It shouldn't be your responsibility.”

“He was only there to mark his territory, Rumple. It _was_ my responsibility. But anyway, we won't have this problem again.”

“Did he leave town?”

“No, but the coffee was not the only thing I picked up from Ruby.”

She reached inside her purse and produced a small can of pepper spray. Rumple smiled without showing his teeth. “That's nice.”

“Yes. He better not even _try_ to harass my friends tonight.”

“I don't know, that might be fun to watch,” he said, taking a sip of the coffee she'd brought in. Black. Wonderfully bitter. He sighed. “Just what I needed. Thank you.”

“You can have as much as you want tonight. We're helping set up Granny's. Flower arrangements, balloons, the whole nine yards.”

He pointed at her jumper. “Should I dress accordingly too?”

Belle raised an eyebrow. “Don't tell me you have a tacky jumper? Because that would be perfect.”

Rumple shrugged. “I'm sure I can find a red tie. Or a pocket square.”

“Or a flower crown,” she suggested, and this time he laughed.

“I'm not wearing a flower crown.”

“I don't see why not,” Belle said, collecting her pepper spray and heading to the storage room, where she changed into her uniform every day. “I'm sure you'd still look very charming.”

 

*

 

Belle was feeling optimistic, and that just didn't happen every day. Despite the night before, this was shaping up to be a really good day. First, she'd mended things with her father; then, she'd met up with her best friend for some much needed prep talk. Nothing calmed her nerves like seeing Ruby bare her teeth and threaten to end Gaston's life. And now Mr. Gold had continued on his latest trend of leaving her absolutely alone for the entire day. Could Belle be any luckier than that?

“Wow, I'm setting the bar really low,” she told herself, though she couldn't help but giggle as she scrubbed his bathtub clean. If he'd left her alone like this from the start, she wouldn't have thought this job was half as bad.

Could it be possible that Gold had gotten bored of her? Perhaps in a couple months more, he'd rethink this whole deal and decide that her original offer to renegotiate the debt was far more appealing than watching the same girl perform menial tasks every day. And then he'd set her free, and things could go back to normal.

If that happened, then Moe might drop that ridiculous idea of her getting back together with Gaston. Or perhaps the pepper spray would do the trick. It was Valentine's Day and Gaston was bound to do something romantic and stupid. A thousand roses? No, he'd aim for something bigger. A book that he didn't completely mutilate? Could be, though he'd never been very good at learning from his mistakes. Right now, he was probably telling himself that Rumple was the one to blame for Belle closing the window in his face and asking to leave, Gaston had always been good at rationalizing things.

 _Either that or he'll blame it on my PMS_ , she thought, wondering why she'd wasted five years of her life being his arm candy.

 _You were young_ , said a voice in her head that resembled her mother's gentleness. _Young girls don't know any better._

God, Belle should've listened to her mother the first time she said she was too good for Gaston. The day she ended the relationship, Colette had sighed with relief. “Good. I'd hate to see someone as bright as you settle for that pretty face.”

What would she have thought of Belle emptying a whole can of pepper spray in his blue eyes? That is, if it came to it... not that she was hopeful...

For the rest of the day, Belle cleaned and scrubbed and served with a little smile on her lips. She couldn't remember ever doing that before, but it was a welcome change. She only noticed how fast time had flown by when Rumple and Bae arrived.

“You look happy, Belle,” Bae said, when they found her dusting the living room and humming a little tune.

“It's _Granny's_ night. I always have fun at _Granny's_. Besides, your grandpa seems to be in a very good mood, lately. I know!” she added, once she noticed Rumple raising an eyebrow at that information. “I was surprised too.”

“You better take advantage of that, then,” he said.

“Will do. In fact, I should be done in about five minutes. Oh! And if you don't have a red tie, I think I can convince dad to lend you one. It's ghastly, but it beats a flower crown.”

Bae laughed. “You'd look good in a flower crown, dad.”

“At least I'd blend in well with the parade.”

“What parade?” Belle asked, sliding the feather duster across the coffee table and feeling very satisfied with herself.

Bae hooked a thumb at the window. “We assumed it was a parade. There're balloons, a crowd, even a marching band.”

Belle pushed the curtain aside and peeked through the window. They were right. There was a small crowd gathering just outside. If they started playing, Gold would probably lose his mind.

Wouldn't that be the perfect ending to her quiet afternoon?

“I don't think you can call that a marching band, Baelfire,” Rumple said.

“How would you call it?” Belle asked. “Five people in ridiculous uniforms holding oversized instruments?”

Rumple pointed a finger at her. “Now _that_ sounds like an accurate description.”

“Maybe the Mayor is throwing an impromptu celebration?” she mused. “I mean, it's never to early to start winning your voters' hearts.”

“Cool. Can I go watch, dad?”

Rumple opened his mouth to answer, but was cut short by the piercing sound of the doorbell.

“I'll just-” he started.

Belle dropped the feather duster and rushed in front of him, her high heels clacking a melody on the floor that was close to chipper. “No, no, no, this is still my job. They're probably just going door to door, inviting people out.”

Belle pulled down her skirt to cover as much of her thighs as she could, then checked her cleavage to make sure nothing was falling out – just like she did every time she ventured outside the house in her ridiculous uniform. Though, if this was truly a Valentine's Day parade, revealing clothing would probably be welcomed. But the jumper might be more appropriate. She could go and fetch it. And then Rumple, Baelfire, and herself could spend a little while listening to the marching band, right before they headed for _Granny's_.

However, when she opened the front door, the world exploded in one loud trombone note, and Belle realized, even before she knew what was happening, that all her optimism had been in vain.

 

*

 

Baelfire screamed, “Dude! What the hell!” and that seemed like an appropriate reaction, as far as Belle was concerned. And Bae hadn't even seen the whole thing yet. There was a marching band outside – well... five members of a marching band. One holding a trombone, another two with trumpets, one with a tiny triangle, and the last one an accordion that was being played madly. But they were not in the middle of the street anymore. They were right in Gold's front yard.

Belle was dizzy. This made no sense. Why were they on Gold's front yard? Why were they playing so loudly? Why did it look like they were directing their song _at her_? And why _the hell_ was everybody outside in this weather? It was freezing!

Just as she asked herself that, things began to fall into place. This wasn't a parade, and that was not a random crowd. She knew these people, or at least she ought to, since most of them were now holding up signs that had her name on it.

YOU GO BELLE

CONGRATULATIONS BELLE

SAY “YES!” BELLE

All around, she could see huge smiles of approval and expectation. But when her eyes fell on Ruby, she only looked pale and guilty. She wasn't holding a sign or balloons, and she was shaking her head in what looked like a desperate warning.

Her father didn't have a sign either, though he stood at the center of it all, flanked by Gaston's parents, all three of them looking as hopeful and proud as ever.

And right in front of her, on Gold's porch, stood Gaston, sharply dressed in a tuxedo and extending her his hand.

“Beautiful Belle,” he said, above the noise.

Right behind her, Bae said, “Wow!” but Rumple seemed to groan, “Oh, no...”

Belle stammered, “I... I...”

Ridiculously, she thought of the pepper spray, now locked away in the cupboard Gold had provided for her belongings. She should have kept it close. In fact, if she survived this humiliation, she'd never go anywhere without it ever again.

“Come outside, come see the band,” Gaston said, grabbing her hand and pulling her on to the porch.

Everyone cheered when she took one step forward, but she retreated instantly.

“Gaston, I'm still working,” she said.

“Don't worry about that,” he told her, looking over her shoulder.

From inside the house, came Gold's cold voice. “Yes, _Princess._ Everything is alright.”

Belle looked back in time to see his smirk. He was standing in the doorway, in front of his son and grandson, claiming the front seat for himself.

_He knew. He helped plan this._

She was so shocked that, when Gaston pulled her outside again, she couldn't remember to resist him. He shrugged his jacket off his shoulders and threw it over hers. “There, there, I wouldn't want you to freeze to death.”

Belle didn't feel cold, though. She didn't feel anything. It was like the whole experience was happening to somebody else, some poor woman whom she felt sorry for while she watched the whole train wreck unravel from the garden. She wasn't surprised when he got down on one knee. No one was, but there was still a collective gasp from the- oh, god! How many people were in that crowd? Was it twenty? It had to be more. Belle thought she was going to faint.

“Belle French,” he started, as the band softened their notes to allow for his voice to be heard. “I remember the first time we ever danced together, and it was to this song.”

 _Can You Feel The Love Tonight_ , Belle knew that it had to be it because she remembered the way Gaston had held her at arms length, his lips muttering the lyrics as he swayed her from left to right. Belle had felt stiff and bored and limited, all she'd wanted was to be pirouetting on the dance floor. The first of many disappointments. But whatever it was that the five-men marching band was attempting to play, it sounded nothing like that song.

“That night,” Gaston proceeded, “I remember thinking I had met the girl I was going to spend the rest of my life with. You were, and you continue to be, the most beautiful girl in the entire world. You are kind and intelligent. You're also a little bossy, but no one is perfect, right?”

The crowd – thirty, it had to be closer to thirty – laughed.

The hand that wasn't holding on to her produced a diamond ring. The rock was so big the light reflected on it almost blinded her.

Gaston continued his speech, not even considering that the shock on her face might be panic. “Belle, I know that things have been shaky between the two of us lately. I think it was only natural that that would happen, with me being away and with what happened to your mom. But I don't want to be apart anymore. I'm ready to make a commitment to make this relationship work.”

“Gaston, don't-”

“I've talked to your dad and I've got the church ready. We can get married right now, on Valentine's Day, just like we talked about when we were together.”

“But this is insane!” she shouted.

Gaston laughed. The crowed laughed along. “I know! You have nothing to worry about. Everything is taken care of. I've even talked to Mr. Gold about your situation.”

“Yes, Princess, he's a catch!” Gold said, loudly, and the crowd cheered in agreement.

“All you have to do is say yes and we can go to Washington together, to start the life we always dreamed of.”

“Gaston, please, I'm still working-”

“Belle, you don't understand!” he insisted. “I've taken care of it! You don't have to work here anymore, you can come with me. Maybe even go to college in a couple of years? You can become a teacher, or a librarian.”

What was it that her father had said?

_And I know you don't want to think of it because you're only twenty two and you don't understand these things yet, but some day you will need a man who can provide the best for you. Someone who will stand by your side. And Gaston is willing to be that man. And it would give me peace of mind if you at least considered it._

Belle found Moe's eyes in the crowd. “You gave him your blessing!”

“I did,” Moe said, not looking sorry at all.

“ _Because he's paying your debt_?” she all but shouted.

Her father seemed taken aback. In the crowd, some of the smiles began to fade.

Gaston, however, remained oblivious. “It doesn't matter why, Belle,” he said. “What matters is what I feel for you. What do you say? Will you m-”

“ _You knew this was coming and you didn't tell me_?” she demanded, completely ignoring the man on his knees right in front of her and focusing her furious eyes on her father. “ _You knew how I felt about it and you let him go ahead with this anyway_? _Are you_ kidding _me_?”

She indicated the band and the crowd and the balloons with her free hand.

Silence ran through the crowd, all expectation replaced with awkwardness. Even the band stopped playing.

“Uhn...” Gaston tried, looking uncomfortable, but his smile never wavering. “Some people might find it romantic?”

The crowd didn't bother agreeing with him. Even the people in the back could see that she was fuming with anger and that this big romantic proposal had been a bust.

“ _I cannot believe this! How could you do this to me?_ ”

“Belle!” Gaston shouted, louder than her voice. “This isn't about your father! This is about you and me-”

“Let me go.”

He blinked his eyes at her, looking confused.

“Let me go – right – _now_!”

“Why?” he asked, looking genuinely confused. Belle could slap him. She should. She was going to. “Why are you so mad? You spent our entire relationship saying that you wanted more romantic gestures like this-”

“I TOLD YOU TO LET ME GO!”

Her father came running up the front steps, followed by Mrs. Légume, just as Gaston gave in to the shock and let go of her arm. Before Moe had the chance to pull her aside, Belle threw Gaston's jacket on the ground and ran inside, thinking that, if Gold tried to block her way, she might knee him between the legs. He didn't.

Bae called her name, “Belle, wait-” and she caught a glimpse of Rumple pulling him aside as she ran by them with tears in her eyes.

 

*

 

“She _screamed_ at me!” Gaston squealed, still standing outside their door. “What the hell? She _actually - screamed_ me! Who screams at a proposal?”

From where he stood, Rumple could see the shock on his face, colored by a deep shade of red. Was it anger or shame? He couldn't tell.

“Right, this was lovely, but now you people have to go,” Malcolm said, shooing Gaston and Moe and a woman Rumple assumed to be Mrs. Légume off his porch.

“What about my daughter?” Moe demanded. “Did you see how upset she was?”

“That's is not my problem. You can solve your issues on your own property- whoa, whoa, whoa!” He captured Ruby's arm just as she tried to cross the front door. “And where do you think you're going-”

“ _Bite me, asshole_!” she barked back, pulling her arm free and marching into the house without looking back.

“Oh, I don't think so, sweetie!” Malcolm said, ready to chase Ruby down and kick her out, quite literally.

Rumple intercepted him in the corridor. “I'll handle her.”

“You'll _handle_ her?” Malcolm repeated, skeptical. “ _How_ exactly?”

“I said I'll handle her, just give me five minutes.” Rumple started down the corridor.

Bae came to his side. “Dad-”

“Go tell her father to wait, I'll make sure she's okay.”

“But maybe I can-”

“Do as I say, Baelfire.”

Rumple limped after Ruby. Both women were much faster and disappeared into the house, but he followed Belle's crying to the storage room, just in time to catch a bundle of red fabric flying out the door.

“ _I said I don't want it!_ ” Belle shouted.

Rumple stopped on his tracks.

“ _I want nothing from him anymore!_ ”

“I know, honey, I know,” Ruby told her, in a soothing voice.

“ _He knew this was coming! He let it go on and he didn't tell! Why didn't he tell me? Why didn't_ you _tell me?_ ”

“He told me five seconds ago! I've been trying to call you ever since, but your phone-”

“ _Mom wouldn't have let it happen!_ ”

Ruby went quiet.

“ _She knew me! She knew that I wouldn't want this! She'd have protected me! I want_ her _! I don't want him, Ruby! I don't want him! She wouldn't have let this happen to me! She-she wouldn't have been_ stupid _enough to make a deal with Gold and-and-and she wouldn't have let me_ be _here! She-she wouldn't, she-_ ”

Belle began sobbing so hard he couldn't make out the words anymore. Ruby probably couldn't either, because she went back to whispering, “I know, Belle, I know. It's alright.”

Rumple knocked on the open door to catch their attention. Inside, Belle had her head buried on her friend's shoulder while Ruby rubbed her back. Her eyes turned to pierce him immediately, ready for battle, though Belle didn't even stir.

“I'm sorry, but you need to take her home,” he said.

“God, you people are _unbelievable_!” Ruby said. Against her, Belle looked even smaller. “Can't you see that she's upset, or you just don't give a damn?”

“If it was up to me, I'd let you stay, but _he'_ s coming and he's going to either throw you on the streets himself or call the police, and I wouldn't take my chances.”

Ruby huffed, but didn't say anything. Rumple had no doubt she could easily take down Malcolm Gold and an army for her friend, but he hoped it wouldn't come to it.

“Her father is just outside, you can-”

“No!” Belle said, raising her head. “I'm not going anywhere with him.”

“It's okay, Belle,” Ruby soothed her. “You can come home with me.”

Belle took in a deep breath, her lips quivering. “I don't have anything to wear.”

Rumple looked at the red bundle of fabric, recognizing it as her jumper.

“I'll go ask Baelfire for a t-shirt,” he said.

“Yes...” Ruby said, still suspicious. “See? It's alright. I'll get rid of your dad and let him know you're coming with me.”

“Use the kitchen door. If my father sees you, he'll make sure you don't get back in.”

With a final check, Ruby left the storage room and disappeared into the kitchen.

Belle rubbed her eyes. “I need to change.”

“Of course.” He pulled the door close, promising, “I'll go get you something to wear.”

Malcolm was waiting in the living room, all amusement the event had provided already vanished, leaving only grumpiness in its place. “Is she gone?”

“Your compassion is astounding,” Rumple said, just as Baelfire walked in. “Did you talk to her dad?”

“Yeah, but the guy is _not_ happy. And her boyfriend is throwing a tantrum.”

Malcolm laughed and peeked through the curtains.

“Can you lend Belle one of your hoodies? She had a... a situation.”

“Which one?”

“Just pick anything that's clean. Quickly.”

Bae rushed upstairs.

Malcolm shook his head. “I knew you couldn't handle them-”

“They're leaving!” Rumple cut in, frustrated. “You might have thought of the consequences _before_ you allowed this to go through.”

“For god's sake, Junior! All I allowed was for the young man to clear their debt. Something he's bound to take back after that stunt she pulled.”

“You're saying you didn't know he was coming to _your_ house to propose to _your_ maid?”

“I'm saying it's not my problem how this thing turned out,” he answered, rather aggressively.

“Nothing ever is,” Rumple said, just as Baelfire thundered down the stairs.

“Here!” he said, handing his father a blue hoodie with a faded Captain America shield at the front. “And a scarf, too. She might need it.”

“Thanks, son.”

“Is she alright?”

Rumple turned around and left, throwing the words, “She'll be fine, Bae,” over his shoulder.

There was a soft whimpering coming from the other side of the door, but the worst of it seemed to be over. He knocked.

“Belle? I got you something.”

Her trembling hand emerged from the room to take the hoodie, then disappeared again.

While he waited, Rumple fished what was left of the Valentine's Day jumper from the floor with his cane and held it up by the shoulders. Apparently, she'd taken a pair of scissors at it. It was so mutilated that the entire thing was coming apart now.

“Dad gave it to me.”

He turned around. Belle was standing in the doorway, the Captain America hoodie over her black skirt. Her mascara had melted down her face and her lips were still quivering, but she'd stopped crying.

“Mom used to do that every Valentine's Day. It was our thing.”

“It's nice that he remembers traditions.”

“He doesn't care, he just feels guilty,” Belle said. “He does everything because he feels guilty and he just wants to feel better about himself. I _hate_ him.” She rubbed her eyes. When he didn't say anything, she asked, “Aren't you going to tell me I shouldn't hate my father?”

Rumple shrugged. “In my experience, sometimes we need to hate our parents. Especially when they deserve it.”

“He does, doesn't he?” she said, rubbing the mascara off her face, but only managing to smudge it even more. “I can't believe he did this to me.”

Ruby appeared through the kitchen door. This time, she'd been sensible enough to peek first, before venturing in, and she'd also taken off her shoes.

“You dad?” she asked.

“I'd say you have five minutes before he loses his temper.”

“Good.” To Belle, she said, “Moe's gone home. And I told him not to come anywhere near Granny's tonight. He does expect _you,_ ” she looked at Rumple, “to come to work, though.”

“The deliveries,” Belle said. “We have to set up _Granny's_ and then we-”

“I can handle it,” he told her. “Don't worry. Just go with your friend and take the night off.”

“Yes, honey,” Ruby agreed, coming to rub her friend's shoulders. “And maybe tell Mr. Gold you need tomorrow off as well.”

“Are you kidding me?” Belle snapped, catching the both of them by surprise. “After that stunt dad pulled, he can solve his mess on his own! I am _never_ coming back here!”

 


	4. Thursday

Twenty four hours, that was all the time Belle had allowed herself to have and it seemed so little for such an important decision. Then again, Gold had given her all but fifteen minutes to decide whether or not she wanted to take his deal, signing off three years of her life to him.

“I still feel that I'm being impulsive,” Belle told Ruby, her cellphone in hand, but still hesitating to punch the buttons.

“No!” Ruby said, across the table. “You're not being impulsive! You thought this through and you're making a responsible, informed decision.”

She had tried so hard to sound sincere and supportive that Belle eyed her with skepticism.

“Yes, okay,” Ruby gave in. “Maybe you didn't have time to _really_ think this through, but it's not like Gold's going to give you a week to think it over.”

That was true. The one time Belle had been late for work he'd been ready to call their deal off, saying she wasn't as trustworthy as he first thought. Belle had to beg that horrible man for a second chance. She didn't get on her knees, but she might as well have. The things she'd had to say!

“You're so _generous,_ Mr. Gold! Surely you can find it in your _kind and good_ heart to forgive me. I've just been a little careless. You know that I can be a little ditsy sometimes.”

Gold appreciated her flattery just as much as her self-deprecation, and she wasn't about to put herself through that ordeal again. She hadn't showed up for work at all that morning, Belle doubted he'd be willing to allow her back into his house. The decision of not going to work was born out of bitterness, blind fury, and feeling sorry for herself. Gold could go screw himself, and so could Moe. She'd take as long as she wanted to think about the contract and what she really wanted to do, and then she'd let them know, and if they didn't like it, well, that was just too damn bad!

Reality hit her around noon, producing a stab of panic and guilt on her chest ( _Daddy is going to lose the shop!_ ) that was quickly replaced by anger ( _Daddy was all but selling me to Gaston._ ) and a series of longer, more practical thoughts regarding her future. Right now, Gold was probably shredding her contract into confetti with a satisfied smirk on his face. Not for the first time, Belle wondered if he'd set the whole proposal thing up as a way to get rid of her. Humiliating her for six months had probably gotten boring, and if she left on her own volition, he'd still get to go after Moe and the flower shop.

As appealing as it was to just lie in bed and cry her eyes out until things sort themselves out, Belle knew they wouldn't. She better stop crying and think of what she wanted to do.

“What I'm saying, Belle,” Ruby continued, “is that you're making the best decision, given the circumstances. You thought this through and this is what you want.”

Belle still shook her head, eyes on her phone as if it could make the decision for her, be it by dialing the number on its own volition, or exploding in her hands. She didn't want to be responsible either way. Moe losing his business, the house she grew up in and that they'd struggled so hard to keep, Belle didn't want to be the cause of that. Just as much as she didn't want to be the cause of her own misery.

Had she actually believed this contract would make things better? She must have known it would only aggravate their situation. Gold had come into the picture before her mother was even properly buried, his henchman tapping on Moe's shoulder just as they stood over her coffin, holding hands and sharing so much pain, thinking nothing could make this worse. In the blink of an eye, Belle had found herself trapped between grief and filial duty.

Moe had been angry at Gold and at himself, he didn't take her sacrifice lightly. But he'd gone through with life looking like a martyr, as if feeling miserable and guilty made up for the fact that he'd put them in that situation. The only way he could rescue his daughter from Gold was to shove her into the arms of a man she didn't love. Yes. That would make _him_ feel so much better.

If Belle chose to break the contract, things were going to change. Dad might never forgive her. Or maybe things would go back to the way they were before he had this cloud of guilt hanging over his head. She couldn't say. Even though her decision affected him just as much, she hadn't talked to him yet, knowing that his opinion would influence her, no mater how angry she was. If he asked her to go back to Gold, she wouldn't be strong enough to say no, and if he told her he supported her decision... then she might crawl back to the way things used to be on her own accord.

No, she shouldn't talk to him. Ruby would do that. She'd call him as soon as Belle was done talking to Gold, and then the two men could work out the details among themselves. Belle wanted no part of it.

Ruby asked, “Do you want to think it over a little more?”

Belle let go of the phone and stroke her ring finger wither thumb, right where her engagement ring would have been.

“I should've said yes,” she sighed. “We'd have gotten married, I'd have played along for a couple of years, then gotten a divorce and moved on with my life.”

“You're better than that,” Ruby said.

“Yes. Isn't that great? Dad always said I shouldn't be so proud.” Belle rubbed her tired eyes, feeling the deep, dark circles underneath them with the tip of her fingers. “You know I'm trying really hard not to hate him.”

“I know.”

“Rumple said that I should. That sometimes we need to hate our parents.”

“Maybe he has a point,” Ruby conceded. “I mean, look at _his_ dad. Could anyone ever love that man? Even if they were his son?”

“Did you ever hate your mom?”

Ruby didn't bat an eye at the question. “You know that I have. But not all the time. I think I got most of it out of my system when I was a teenager.”

“Yes... I think that's what I need. I have to get it out of my system, all this resentment and this anger. I won't be able to do that with that contract hanging over my head.”

Belle picked up the phone again, but still didn't make the call.

“He's going to lose the flower shop,” Belle stated, more to see how she felt about it than asking for Ruby's opinion.

Ruby still said, “That is a possibility, yes. Is that something you can live with?”

“I think that I have to start accepting that this isn't my fault. Doesn't mean I won't feel really guilty when it happens. Just so you're warned.”

“I'll stock up on ice cream.”

Belle tapped the numbers in.

There was only one more thing.

“Do you think they'll be alright?”

“They'll be fine. Gus and Jacques will find a job somewhere else, and your dad is still young-”

“No, I meant Rumple and Bae.”

“The son and grandson? Why wouldn't they?”

“They're good people. I hate the thought of them being alone with Gold. He doesn't treat them much better than he treats everyone else.”

“What could you do if you were there, honey?”

Belle thought about it.

“Nothing. I could do nothing.”

Belle pressed the call button. She better stop making herself to be everyone's hero.

Gold's voice boasted on the other side of the line after the second ring. “Princess! Don't tell me you've changed your mind and you're on your way to the honeymoon?”

With a sudden flush of happiness, Belle realized the one good thing to come from all of this: now, she could call the old man a prick to his face.

 

*

 

It was the end of their shift and Jacques was still babbling as emphatically as when they'd began their deliveries, which only made Rumple miss Belle even more. He liked children and, for the most part, didn't mind teenagers, but so far he hadn't found himself and Jacques to have much in common, other than a new-found despise for Gaston Légume.

Jacques was a pimpled, brown-skinned boy that, at the age of 19, was full of energy and enthusiasm, qualities Rumple would've appreciated much more if they hadn't been stuck together in a confined space all evening. He'd never known how to deal with friendly types. People who talked too fast and smiled too much threw him off. Besides, the boy spoke with a thick Montreal accent, sometimes introducing french words in the middle of his fast-paced sentences, his thoughts clearly going too fast to be fully translated. It made it impossible to understand what he was saying most of the time. Communication was virtually non-existent and Rumple gave up on it early on, limiting himself to nodding in agreement. It wasn't like he had to hang on every syllable to know what made Jacques so furious; after all, the entire town was talking about nothing else. A rejected proposal that loud and that public was about the juiciest piece of gossip in recent years.

Belle had been so upset he'd had to work by himself the night before and, while working without a partner was hard on his leg, he'd managed worse in the past. Even though it took him an extra couple of hours to finish deliveries, and helping set _Granny's_ up for Valentine's night left him sore and exhausted, Rumple believed Moe would be impressed enough to let him finish the week by himself.

The following evening, he'd come to the garage with Jacques in tow.

“Did you see her today?” he asked, without greeting him.

“I did not,” Rumple answered. Apparently, Belle would make good on her promise to never return to the Gold household. Malcolm didn't even look surprised that morning, when he came into the kitchen to find his son and grandson setting up their breakfast table.

“Where's the maid?” he'd asked.

Rumple had shrugged. Bae went as far as to speculate, “I guess she needed a day off.”

Malcolm seemed mildly bothered by the news, but hadn't done much more than grunt and roll his eyes.

Rumple expected Moe to say something, perhaps demand more information than Rumple actually had. After all, they had Belle on a contract, didn't they? They were bound to know something. But instead, he rubbed his forehead worriedly, without saying a word. Rumple couldn't tell if his concern was about the deal they'd made with Malcolm, or the fact that he had no idea how his little girl was doing. Perhaps a bit of both. Then, Moe pretty much shoved the boy at him, saying, “This is Jacques. As long as he doesn't drive, you should be fine.”

It wasn't that Rumple had any specific complaints, other than the difficult communication. Jacques was competent and fast, clearly used to hopping in and out of that van and handling the deliveries. Besides, it was good to see that someone else was just as angry at Gaston as he was. From the endless rant, Rumple hadn't picked up much, but the words “ridiculous”, “brute”, “poor _Mademoiselle_ Belle” and “idiot man” were very clear. He was also sure there was a litany of curse words coming out of his mouth at one point. Working with a partner was much easier, and Rumple appreciated that he didn't have to get out of the van and deal with customers.

But Jacques was just... not Belle. Being stuck in a van with her hadn't been nearly as overwhelming. While Jacques had a one-track mind, Belle could talk about many things in just one hour. Her voice was soft and careful, not loud and enthusiastic. She even knew how to get _him_ talking, even if only for a minute or so.

Moe was right to be worried. How was she doing? Was she still crying on Ruby's shoulder? That would make sense. Poor girl. She didn't deserve that. Was she really gone from their lives? Not that he could blame her. He understood. He just wished he knew that she was okay now...

“ _Que l'homme ridicule_!” Jacques continued. “I swear, if I see him, I'll give him a piece of my mind! No one treats _la fille de Monsieur_ French like that! _Mademoiselle_ Belle has always been nice to us!”

“Hm-hm,” Rumple nodded, eyeing the traffic light eagerly. All he had to do was drop the boy and the van off and then he'd go home, where the only teenager he had to deal with was _blessedly_ quiet.

 

 


	5. Friday

There were small things that Rumple didn't know he missed until he was allowed to have them back. The comfort of knowing food would be on the table by the end of the day, regardless of being unemployed, for example. It lifted a heavy weight off his shoulders. Being able to do the laundry every other week with an actual washing machine was also one less thing to worry about. Right now, though, he was fascinated at how wonderful it felt to shave with warm water. It was something so inconsequential in the great scheme of things that he hadn’t given it more than a passing thought, but now he couldn’t help but feel deeply grateful for the boiler in the basement, making this daily routine a little less unpleasant.

It would be so much better to teach Baelfire how to shave in his father’s large, granite-covered bathroom, than it would’ve been in a filthy motel room. The bathroom they shared, though far from being the largest in the house, still looked dark and solemn, as if awaiting for a rite of passage to take place in it. Yes, perhaps he was giving something so mundane a little too much importance. Milah would have said he was “acting like a girl” with all that sentimentality, but the thought of teaching his son such an important part of being a man made him happy.

A knock on the door caught his attention just as he turned off the water.

“Yes?”

Baelfire’s voice asked, “Can I come in?”

“Sure.”

Bae opened the door, but stood under the frame, looking in. He pointed at his wet face. “Shouldn’t you do that in the morning?”

“It’s better to shave after you shower,” Rumple told him.

Bae nodded, unconsciously scratching his cheek where a little bit of stubble had began to grow. Much like himself, Bae was a late bloomer, but it shouldn’t take long now. He was going to give it another week or so, and if Bae didn’t bring up the subject himself, Rumple would ask about it, as tactfully as possible.

“You’re on your way out?” Bae asked.

“Yes, and I better hurry. If I’m not there on time, Belle’s father will eat my liver. Or do the deliveries himself.” Rumple ran the towel over his dripping hair. “Honestly, I don’t know what would be worse, at this point.”

“Right. Cool. So, I was thinking...”

Rumple looked away from his reflection and at his son, sensing trouble on the way. Whenever Bae started a sentence that carefully, he was about to say something he wouldn’t approve of.

“Apparently, Graham and Mulan go to the movies every month? It’s sort of their thing. And they want me to go with them. And I said I was going to ask you if I could, so... I’m asking.”

Rumple said, “No, Bae, I’d rather you stayed home tonight,” and turned back to the mirror before he could see Bae’s hope deflate into disappointment.

“Graham said that he can get us a discount,” Bae insisted. “So it wouldn’t really be too expensive. Maybe eight dollars?”

“It’s not about the money, Bae. You know it’s not safe out there.”

“It... kinda... is.”

“Bae-”

“Well, you were the one who said it,” he argued. “You said that we’d be safer here. Isn’t that why we’re living with grandpa now?”

Rumple’s eyes flicked to his son quickly, then back at his own reflection, which was quickly becoming a mask of guilt. He rubbed aftershave in his hands, then pressed it to his face, the burn of it almost soothing in the torrent of thoughts crossing his mind.

“I’m just saying,” Bae continued, in the lack of an answer, “if your masterplan was to lock me inside the house-”

Rumple whipped around. “I’m not _locking_ you inside the house, Baelfire,” he said, not appreciating his choice of words. “I’m _asking_ you to stay inside while I work. I know it’s not fun, but you know we shouldn’t be taking any chances with your mother.”

“Yes, that’s precisely my point,” Bae said, glad that his father had brought her up. “Mom has no idea where we are. I mean, it’s been a while since we’ve heard from her-”

“We haven’t been here two weeks-”

“And she can’t just grab me and drag me away. Like, in Boston, okay, it was easy, but in here everyone knows everyone. And everyone knows Malcolm. And, and, where is she going to get a cab in this town anyway? I haven’t seen one!”

“I _really_ can’t do this right now, Bae,” Rumple said, shoving the disposable blade and shaving cream into his bag. “I’m already on a tight schedule. Jacques and Moe are probably waiting for me.”

“Not Belle?” Bae asked, his tone softening.

“I don’t know. I’m not holding my breath, since she didn’t show up yesterday either.”

“Doesn’t she need at least _one_ job, since she’s not working for grandpa anymore?”

“We don’t know if she’s not working for grandpa.”

 _Though she seemed pretty adamant about it_ , he didn’t say.

“I liked having her around. She was good company.”

Rumple nodded, “I know.”

“I’m just bored, Papa,” Bae said, switching topics without warning. “There isn’t much to do in the house and you don’t even want me to go downstairs.”

“I said I’d rather you didn’t because your grandfather doesn’t like the noise, but if you’re quiet-”

“Oh! I could go to work with you!”

“No.”

“Why not? I could help with the deliveries and stuff!”

“You can’t work, Bae. I promised your grandfather you wouldn’t.”

“Then I’ll just... I’ll stay in the van and mind my own business.”

“Baelfire, I already said no.”

Bae groaned with frustration.

“Don’t give me that attitude,” Rumple warned him. “You’re already going out tomorrow night.”

“Yay! I get to have fun once a week in a controlled environment.”

Rumple was about to tell his son to drop the sarcasm, and that, if he wanted to go out at all on Saturday, he better start taking their situation more seriously and be respectful, but he closed his mouth quickly the moment he heard Malcolm’s footsteps coming up the stairs. Though the bathroom was on the other side of the corridor, Rumple signaled for Bae to come inside and close the door. If Malcolm decided to come over to see what they were up to and caught a glimpse of Rumple wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, he’d probably say something unsavory. He’d rather avoid hearing his father’s commentary on his scrawny looks. Besides, he’d hate for Malcolm to overhear their fight just as it was about to get heated.

However, they could hear Malcolm go straight to his bedroom and close the door. When Bae spoke again, he seemed to have calmed down.

“I get it, Papa,” Baelfire told him. “I know you worry and I know I’m not, _technically_ , safe. But you don’t really expect me to sit still for two months? You were the one who said I should make friends.”

“I know,” Rumple said, feeling a stab of guilt again.

“ _You_ should make friends too, you know?”

“I have you.”

“I’m your son. I don’t count.”

“Sure you do.”

Before he could debate the issue, he urged Bae out into the corridor and went into his bedroom to get dressed. He thought that Bae might drop the subject by the time he was suited up for work, but he was still waiting outside, looking hopeful.

“You just don’t give up, do you?”

“I wonder where I learned to be stubborn,” he teased, making his father smile.

“You still can’t go out tonight,” Rumple said, as Bae followed him to the door. “But as soon as I get paid, we can try to find you a cellphone, yes?”

“Wait, I’m getting a new cellphone?”

“Don’t get your hopes up. With what Moe’s paying me, we’ll be lucky if I can afford a second hand one. But we’ll work something out. I’ll just feel safer if you had a way to-” He swallowed the words _call for help_ and replaced them with, “-to reach me more easily.”

“And after I get a cellphone,” he tried, a little more chipper, “then I can go out every night?”

“Every night is a privilege reserved for college students, young man,” Rumple said, at the door, ready to kiss him goodbye. “But at least you can go out with your friends more often. Not just once a week, in a controlled environment.”

  
  


*

  
  


Baelfire watched his father turn the corner with a final wave of the hand, before shutting the door and locking it. Mom had never cared if the front door was locked and the chain was closed, unless she wanted to give dad hell about being careless. But in less than a year, he’d learned to be careful about things like that. Papa had taken it one step further and become downright paranoid about it, getting up at odd hours just to make sure the doors and windows were locked. Bae pretended not to hear it when he got out of bed to fumble with the chain and key - at least he had a lifelong experience in pretending not to see things that were there.

“He’s quite the warden, isn’t he, laddie?”

Bae looked up to find his grandfather leaning over the bannister, gazing down on him from the second floor. His smile was full of mockery, but his eyes were suggesting complicity.

“He just worries,” Bae said, with a shrug.

“How old are you again?”

“Fourteen. Almost fifteen.”

“Almost fifteen,” Malcolm repeated, contemplating the number. “I gave Junior more freedom at that age. Not that he knew what to do with it.”

Malcolm started moving towards the stairs. Though Bae had planned on going back to his room and read his old comic books for what was probably the hundredth time, he didn’t budge from his place at the bottom of the stairs, thinking it would be disrespectful to try to go up just as his grandfather was coming down.

“He’s always been a bit of a hermit,” Malcolm said, though it didn’t feel like he was aiming the memory at anyone in particular. “All he wanted was to stay home with his books, or at the shop with Vi and her friend, going over their junk. Go figure.”

He finished the thought with a shrug that seemed disappointed to Bae, though he couldn’t see why.

“I think dad would be happy if I never wanted to go anywhere,” Bae said, just as his grandfather came to a halt in front of him. “Or if I read more. He’s always telling me reading is important.”

“Oh, reading is important, laddie,” Malcolm agreed. “I just don’t see how reading fairy tales will improve a young man’s character. And that was all your father wanted to read when he was your age.”

“What, like Cinderella? Beauty and the Beast?”

Malcolm wrinkled his nose in disapproval. “All that Asimov shite. Julius Verne.”

“That’s not a fairy tale.”

“It’s not reality either. I don’t see what good that did him.”

Malcolm turned to leave. Bae’s eyes flicked up the stairs, at his bedroom door, then at his grandfather’s back as he moved away from him.

“Malcolm? Sir?”

“Aye?” he replied, still walking away.

“How was my dad when he was my age?”

Malcolm scoffed and turned around. “What? He didn’t tell you? I thought he told you everything.”

“He... doesn’t really like to talk about that. But you raised him, right?”

“That I did.”

“Well... you must have stories? Things like that?”

Malcolm eyed him from head to toe, evaluating him. Baelfire hated when he did that. Whenever Rumple looked at him, he knew what his father was thinking, and whether he was in trouble or not. Malcolm’s face was always neutral, ready to turn into a smile or a scowl at any moment.

“I have work to do, laddie,” he finally said.

“Yes, sure, sorry. I’ll be in my-”

“Junior did quite a number on you, didn’t he?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Yes, exactly that. You’re always saying ‘sorry’.”

“Uhmm...” Bae mumbled, unsure of what to say, though he had the urge to apologize once again. Mom used to tell him just that, “Stop apologizing, my love, you’ve done nothing wrong,” but her voice was coated in sugar, while Malcolm’s wasn’t. His criticism was palpable. “I’ll... work on it. Sir.”

“Good lad,” he said, turning around again. “Come. You can join me for dinner. I’ll tell you a couple of stories about your dad.”

Bae didn’t move for a moment, processing what his grandfather had just said. Then, his feet were set in motion and he followed Malcolm into the kitchen.

  
  


*

  
  


Moe took advantage of the fact that they came back to the shop earlier than expected to drill Rumple with questions, though maybe _attack him with questions_ might be more accurate. He was barely out of the van when the other man marched up to him.

“Belle just called.”

He threw the words in his face like a glove, demanding a duel, but they were so random and out of place that Rumple felt disoriented for a moment. When he could finally make sense out of it, he found himself feeling relieved.

“Is she feeling better?”

Moe didn’t seem to appreciate his concern, and glared as if to say, “Don’t insult my intelligence by pretending you care about my daughter.”

“She just updated me about our situation.”

He motioned with a thick index finger back and forth, between the two of them.

Rumple raised an eyebrow.

“About the contract,” Moe clarified.

It still made no sense.

“She’s not working for your father anymore.”

“Ah,” Rumple said. “Good. Good for her.”

“So can you _please_ tell me what’s going to happen now?”

The word was covered in sarcasm, rather than politeness.

“Uhn, _Monsieur_? Should I-” Jacques tried.

“Go home, Jacques!” Moe barked, and the teenager was gone before his boss finished saying, “You can do whatever you need in the morning!”

“Mr. French, I’m sorry, I have _no idea_ what you’re talking about.”

“I’m talking about _my shop_. I want to know when exactly your father is going to _come and take it_.”

Rumple opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, staring at the massive man in front of him, expecting him to say something that would make this clear. He didn’t.

“Mr. French, if you and my father have any legal matters pending, you should take it up with-”

“Don’t mess with me, Gold!”

Moe took a large step forward. Rumple coward back immediately, almost losing balance on his weak foot.

“This is exactly what your father wanted from the beginning!” Moe roared on. “He cannot stand the fact that someone in this city doesn’t have to pay him rent and suck it up to him! Well, this is about to change. He won! I want to know when he’s coming for the spoils!”

“I- I don’t- I-”

Moe watched him stammer, unmerciful.

_What a pathetic rat you are. Are you afraid of the big, bad man?_

He had to say something. He had to make sure Moe understood.

_You’re making him angry. You’re always making people angry._

“Don’t bother showing up to work tomorrow,” Moe said, dropping his voice to a serious tone. “I don’t need your help anymore.”

“What? No,” he said, finally finding his words as the other man held the door to the street open. “I’ve already worked five days-”

“And I’ll pay you for the five days on Monday, as we agreed,” Moe told him. “I’m not a crook, like your family. But if you show up around here again, I’ll kick you out. It’ll give me great pleasure.”

He pointed to the night outside. Rumple could see by the look on his face that there was no reasoning with him. The matter was over and done with.

Moe slammed the door behind him just as Rumple stepped out onto the sidewalk.

“Great,” he sighed. “That is just great.”

Five days of work. That was most of the money that Moe French had promised him, that wasn’t the problem. One extra night of work might make a difference given the current state of his finances, but he’d survived on less in the past. He could make do.

The real issue was what was bound to happen next: Moe French was going to lose his flower shop. Not that Rumple felt any sympathy for the man at that point. If being screamed at wasn’t enough to make him dislike the man, the way he’d treated his own daughter was. What kind of father would send a child to work for Malcolm Gold? Or put her through that marriage proposal?

No, no, he didn’t feel sorry for Moe French. But the entire town would. A local businessman, well-liked and respected by the community, having his entire livelihood, his dream, taken from under his legs in the blink of an eye. People would know who did it, his father would make no secret of it. And after the word got around, then there wouldn’t be a soul in Storybrooke willing to look past his ancestry. Forget getting a job, he’d be lucky if people didn’t spit at him.

Five days of work. That was it. That was all he was getting, and he better make that money last.

He walked home, thinking the night air would help him clear his head, but by the time he arrived, there was nothing but the familiar feeling of defeat burning in the pit of his stomach. Glasgow had never seemed so distant.

“What do you mean, fold?” came his father’s booming voice from somewhere down the corridor.

It made him instantly angry, which was a much better feeling than failure. While he was worrying about how to keep his son safe, Malcolm was probably losing a few thousand dollars to one of his partners in crime by cheating poorly on poker. Felix, probably. Or the lawyer.

But then came Baelfire’s voice, “What? I have a bad hand!”

_Wait, what?_

Rumple followed the sound of their voices as they continued to bicker.

“Poker is not about the hand you’re dealt, laddie. It’s about the bluff.”

“Yeah, I don’t think the bluffing part is working well for me.”

“That’s because you have an honest face. You light up like a Christmas tree every time you have a good hand.”

“I guess I’m not a good liar.”

“You better learn, then, because that’s an essential skill to have in life.”

“Can’t I just win this game on strategy?”

“Not unless you’re really good at math.”

“Oh...”

“Thought so.”

“What are you doing?” Rumple asked.

Baelfire and Malcolm looked up at him. They were sitting in Malcolm’s game room, which hadn’t changed much since Rumple was a boy, though the flat screen TV on the wall was new. There was still a poll table taking up much of the room, and a green card table, at which they were both sat. Colorful chips piled up on each side. He noticed that his father’s mount was considerably larger than Bae’s.

“Junior! You’re home early!”

“Hey, dad!”

“Hey. What are you doing?” he repeated, lacking their enthusiasm.

“Malcolm is teaching me to play poker.”

“Why?”

“Because you only taught him Canasta, and Canasta is a ridiculous game,” Malcolm said. He snapped his fingers at Baelfire. “You're stalling, Neal. It's your turn.”

“Okay, okay.”

Bae gathered the cards as his grandfather collected the chips.

“You want to join in, dad?” Bae offered.

“Yes, the laddie could use some help. Though he is quite the croupier. He could work in Vegas!”

Bae’s eyes grew in size. “You’ve been to Vegas?”

“ _Been_ to? That’s where I spend every New Year’s Eve!”

“Wow, that’s cool-”

“Bae, I need to talk to your grandfather. Will you give us a minute?” Rumple cut in.

Baelfire must have heard the tension in his voice, because he asked, “Can we play some more after that?”

“I think you’ve played enough cards for one night.”

“But we were-”

“Now, now,” Malcolm said, and his tone would have been gentle, if Rumple found him capable of such thing. “Your dad is right, laddie. We can play some other time. Keep the deck,” he told his grandson, when Bae tried to leave the cards on the table. “You need some practice.”

Rumple saw Bae’s mouth twitching in a smile as he left the room.

“Don’t worry, these are for educational purposes only, Junior,” Malcolm told him, collecting the chips. “I’d never take advantage of your son’s poor poker skills.”

“Moe French just fired me.”

Malcolm didn’t bat an eye at the news.

“What did you do? Crash the van?”

“Belle told him that she’s no longer working for you, and I have no idea what kind of arrangement you two had, but he’s under the impression you’re going to take his shop.”

His father watched him, as if waiting for something relevant to happen.

“And how does that concern you?”

“It doesn’t, but he doesn’t seem to understand that!”

“Moe’s throwing a tantrum, Junior,” Malcolm said, dismissive. “So he fired you _one_ _day_ before what was agreed on. So what? You can find another job.”

“I can’t! That’s what I’m-”

“And if you can’t,” Malcolm cut in, “I’m sure I can find you something. Felix might need a helper, or whatever.”

“You want me to work for Felix?” Rumple asked, baffled. He couldn’t think of a worse fate than that.

“No. I want to play Poker,” Malcolm said, producing another deck from a small drawer on his side of the table. “But since you sent my partner to bed, what do you say? For old times’ sake?”

Rumple huffed and left the room.

His father’s voice followed him outside.

“Mind the attitude, Junior! Your son might think you’re a hypocrite.”

 


	6. Saturday

If Jacques was the one waiting behind the counter, Belle was in for a long round of enthusiastic support and an angry ranting in Frenglish, but that was better than the alternative. She'd rather spend a little while handling Jacques' temperament than facing her father right now.

Not that Belle wanted to talk to anyone at all. She'd much rather crawl back under the blanket that had become her comfort zone for the past three days and pretend life hadn't been turned on its head. It was better to think of a time when she wasn't the talk of town, when Moe wasn't about to lose everything he owned because she was being resentful, than actually do something about it. Ruby, ever so helpful, had offered to pick her things up, but Belle told her it was alright. She could do it. And anyway, Ruby had already spent three days tending to her wounds, it was time to face reality.

People stared, Belle could tell even though her eyes were on the sidewalk, and a couple of people went as far as to shout her name. They sounded angry, though, so Belle didn't stop to see what they wanted. Granny had overheard some really nasty things at the diner and warned her to be careful out there. Random people might want to berate her for the way she'd handled Gaston.

“In a perfect world, we'd all just mind our own business,” Granny told her, after Belle insisted she had to go home. “But until people learn better, just keep an eye out for assholes.”

The only comfort in the whole situation was that Gaston had already left town. Once he'd been publicly rejected, it hadn't taken him two hours to pack his bags and drive away as fast as he could to escape the ruthlessness of the small town rumor mill. Belle wished she had that option too, but since she didn't, it at least felt nice to know he was feeling as humiliated as she was.

Her plan was to peek through the windows of the flower shop and see who was on duty before coming in, but then she saw the sign at the door announcing “CLOSED” and that the lights inside were off. It made no sense. This was supposed to be their biggest day, since almost everyone in town would be celebrating Valentine's Day on Saturday night. Moe wouldn't have closed so early.

Unless Gold had already chased him out of the shop.

The thought of it made her stomach churn with guilt, but Belle told herself to calm down before panic settled in. Gold still had to give him at least thirty days to vacate the premises, she had insisted on that clause herself, it was in the contract. Besides, dad would have warned her to come over and take her belongings.

She tried her key. It still worked. A good sign.

The bell above the door chirped merrily, oblivious to the gravity of the situation, and it didn't take long for her father to come running from the back.

“I thought it was you,” he said, quietly.

Since the fiasco, Moe had been calling her every other hour, leaving excuses on her voice mail and saying that they had to sit down and talk things through. By Wednesday night, Belle had to turn her phone off and ignore the voice mail just to get a break from him. But now that she was in front of him, Moe kept his distance.

Belle didn't trust herself to say anything so she kept her mouth shut.

“Are you feeling any better, sweetheart?”

She folded her arms over her chest, putting on an armor before she joined the conversation. She didn't want to look receptive to a hug, though Moe made no attempt to hold her.

“No, not particularly,” Belle said.

“I can see you're still mad.”

“Yes. I think I'll stay mad for a while.”

“You have the right to be. But if you could just understand-”

“I'm not here to have this conversation,” she cut in. “I'm not ready and if we try to do this now, I'm going to say things I'll regret and I won't be able to take them back.”

“Maybe that's what you need.”

“I said I don't want to, so if you could stop deciding my life and let me-”

She bit down hard on her lips. She shouldn't have come.

“I understand, Belle. It's alright,” Moe said, his voice so calm that it made her angry. If he acted pushy or disappointed, then she'd feel so much better. Even though she was doing her best to avoid it, the truth was that screaming at her father would have made her feel... not better, but at least vindicated. She wanted to be the loud and irrational one for once, say terrible things without thinking of the consequences and get that weight off her chest.

Instead, Belle was looking into the eyes of the man he'd been that morning, when he'd gifted her a new sweater to keep up her mother's tradition. She loved that man so much.

“I just came to get my things,” she informed him, before forgiveness could find a way to her heart. “I've decided to stay with Ruby and Granny for a while. Granny said I can work at the inn.”

“So you're really leaving Gold's employment?”

Belle listened for a plea, but there was none. She'd go as far as to say Moe looked happy with that particular turn of events.

“Yes. I am.”

“Good. I never thought it was right for you to work for that monster.”

“I know.”

“That's why I gave Gaston my blessing.”

“Dad-”

“I promise, Belle,” he insisted, “I tried to take it back that morning. I told him to talk to you first, but he didn't listen to me.”

“You could have warned me.”

Moe nodded. “I know. But I hoped that you would change your mind.”

“Because of his money?”

“Yes.”

She stared at him, taken aback by his bluntness.

“And I wouldn't think any less of your for it,” Moe said. “I just want you to be free of that horrible man.”

“I am, and it didn't take becoming a gold digger.”

“That's not what I-”

“Did Gold talk to you yet?” she interrupted.

“He hasn't called.”

“He told me to come by on Monday. Honestly, I think he likes to leave you dangling. It's entertaining to him.”

“Sounds about right.”

Moe smiled with bitter amusement. Belle knew that smile. _The situation is bad, honey, but I'll make the best of it_. She had always thought her father was such a strong man, but now just the glint of his teeth was enough to ignite her anger once again. He shouldn't be smiling like the situation was nothing. He shouldn't be taking this lightly. It wasn't going to be okay.

Belle hugged herself tighter. “I don't hate you. You know that, don't you?”

“I know,” he said, though Belle could tell he was glad to hear it.

“I'm not doing this just because I'm angry at you. It's a factor, but it's not the only one.”

“I understand.”

Belle kicked the floor with her boots and didn't look him in the eye when the next question came. “Do you have a place to stay?”

“I'll be fine.”

“How about the boys?”

“I haven't told them yet. I'm waiting for Gus to come back. I'm sure they can find something else, though. If you only came to get your things, you can just...”

He indicated the stairs.

“Right,” Belle said, but didn't move.

“I'll let you get to it. We have to go help Mother Superior set up the dance.”

“You're going with Jacques and Rumple? Shouldn't you stay at the shop?”

Moe didn't answer.

Belle shook her head. “God, dad, don't tell me...”

“That family is coming to take my business, Belle, I don't see why I have to-”

“You're such an ass sometimes,” she murmured, heading for the stairs without even glancing at him.

Fifteen minutes later, she emerged with an overnight bag. If Gold was really coming to take the shop and the two-bedroom apartment on the second floor, she'd have to come back later, with several boxes and suitcases to fit her entire wardrobe, her large collection of shoes, and the even larger collection of books. But for now she had selected a few clothes, make-up that was more suiting for her skin than Ruby's, her old laptop, and a few books. She had also tucked her pillow underneath her arm, thinking the familiarity of it might provide some comfort.

Moe was waiting at the bottom of the stairs for her. It was like he hadn't moved a muscle since she'd stormed away.

“Do you have everything you need?”

“Yes.”

“Your toothbrush?”

“I got it.”

“You should have your mother's jewelry-”

“I'm not leaving the country, dad. We'll decide on that later.”

“How long are you going to stay there?”

“I don't know.”

They went quiet.

“I don't want Junior in my house again,” Moe said, and Belle was ready to reply with something acid, when he added, “but if you're willing to keep an eye on him... he can have his last day back.”

 

*

 

Rumple thought he'd think of something to say to Belle once he got to the inn, but he was now only a couple of blocks away and he still had no idea how to start a conversation. If the waitresses at _Granny's_ were to be believed, she hadn't come out of her bedroom for three days straight, so clearly she didn't want to see anyone. Dropping by unannounced, saying, “I just wanted to know how you were doing,” seemed inappropriate, somehow. He was worried, yes, but he couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't in his place to worry about Belle French.

He'd justified the visit to himself by claiming that they were friends but, upon close inspection, that argument didn't hold. She was a lovely girl, easy to like, but at best, they were acquaintances, two strangers thrown together by a series of unfortunate events and who found themselves stuck with each other, first in an old house, and then in an old van. Belle was nice, but he'd be willing to bet that Belle was nice to just about anyone who needed it.

Not that concern for her was the only thing fueling his expedition. Rumple had to get out of the house and do something because staying in and staring at the walls was driving him insane. By now, unemployment had become the norm and Rumple should've gotten used to it, but he couldn't. The idleness of it was unbearable. Even when he was a teenager, he'd still spent every day with Aunt Violet in her shop, doing as he was told just to fill his afternoons with some sort of purpose. Now, that purpose was gone and he was back where he'd started.

Waking up that morning with the knowledge that there would be nothing to do made his entire body feel heavy, as if it didn't want to get off the bed and face the horrible truths that awaited for him downstairs.

No job. No money. No prospects. Back into daddy's house and with no chance of ever getting out. Scotland getting further away every day.

It didn't matter that Moe had only taken away one day of work, nor that he would've woken up on Sunday to the same feeling. He still felt like a failure.

Bae had reacted to the news with his usual tact (“It's okay, papa. Something always turns up.”), while his father, as predicted, didn't take too long before announcing exactly what Rumple would be doing from now on.

“I called Felix. He needs a new secretary.”

“Henchmen have secretaries?” Rumple asked. He should be grateful, given that that was the best job offer he'd gotten in nearly two months, but the thought of working under Felix made him feel uneasy. His only job was to do as Malcolm Gold said and he was terribly good at it. From collecting rent, to intimidating tenants, to meeting with people his father couldn't be bothered with, Felix performed his duties with the loyalty of a dog, and a merciless one at that.

“You're being difficult, Junior,” Malcolm said, snapping his tongue as if his son were a child throwing a tantrum. “He's just as busy as I am and somebody has to make sure he stays on top of everything. The last girl was as dumb as a doorknob, so his expectations are very low. Even if you just sit around all day and fetch coffee once in a while, he'll be satisfied.”

Rumple doubted that. Felix had never let the opportunity to make his life miserable slide, and their most recent encounter hadn't been very promising. A part-time job working for him for minimal wage... god, he must be really desperate if he was truly considering it.

So, yes, visiting Belle wasn't just about concern for an acquaintance. Perhaps it was a little selfish, but he needed a break. Or perhaps what he needed was a comforting presence. Belle was a good companion, and she was terribly good at cheering people up. That is, if she had left her room at all that day.

He was just a couple of blocks away from the inn, trying to come up with a good conversation starter, when Moe's van turned the corner. Wonderful. If he kept his eyes on the sidewalk, perhaps they could avoid another altercation.

He honked.

 _Oh, god, here we go_.

At least there were no pedestrians out in the cold to witness another round of humiliation. With his eyes down, he pretended not to see when the van pulledup next to him and continued on his way.

“Rumple! Hey!”

He stopped in his tracks and turned around to find Belle's smiling face on the window, one hand waving him closer.

“It's you,” he stated, walking back.

“Surprise,” she said, her smile sweet but never reaching her eyes.

“I'm sorry, I thought it was-”

“My jerk of a father?”

“Not the words I would use, but yes.” He peeked inside the van and realized she was alone. “I thought you couldn't drive the van?”

“Jacques just went into the back.”

“Ah.”

An enthusiastic voice came from behind her. “ _Ça va, Monsieur_ Gold!”

“Afternoon, Jacques,” he said, glad the boy couldn't see his inability to form an honest smile.

“He was my designated driver,” Belle said.

“Doesn't he have a learner's permit only?”

“Yes, and I'm not much better.” Her slender arm appeared, dangling the keys on the tip of her fingers. “His seat has just been vacated, though”

“Haven't you heard? I was fired.”

“I did hear it. But dad wants back on my good side, so he's willing to give you back your last day, as long as I'm here to, and I quote, 'keep an eye on you'.”

“Wouldn't you rather spend your Saturday-”

She scoffed. “What, wallowing in self-pity?”

“That was my plan.”

“But then who's going to drive Bae and Graham to the ball?”

Rumple could feel the corners of his mouth twitching slightly. “Don't tell me this turns into a pumpkin carriage.”

“Who needs a pumpkin carriage when they have an old van with terrible suspension?”

“True.”

“ _Les_ _fleurs_!” Jacques shouted, sounding amused by their exchange. “ _Beaucoup de fleurs_!”

Rumple frowned at Belle, awaiting translation.

“We're bringing the flower arrangements. And balloons. You know, to spruce up the school gymnasium and make it worth of Bae's first dance. So what do you say, partner?” She made the keys rattle. “Rescue us from our terrible driving?”

Rumple grabbed the keys without hesitation. Doing something was exactly what he needed.

 

*

 

Truth be told Bae didn't have high expectations about the dance. Mulan had painted a very unenthusiastic image of all of Storbrooke's events, especially those aimed at teenagers.

“There's a reason why everyone's desperate for a driver's license,” she'd told him. “Because as soon as you can drive, you can find somewhere that's actually _fun_.”

Graham however, who'd been trying to convince Bae – well, _Neal_. He'd been trying to convince Neal that Storybrooke was not just a cow town in the middle of nowhere and that they knew how to have fun, just as much as Portland.

“You're gonna make him want to leave, Mulan! And he just got here.”

According to him, the dance was going to be fun, even if only because they could stuff themselves with pizza and soda. And then, he could sleep over at Graham's because, apparently, grandpa wanted them out of the house. Well, thanks grandpa!

Bae didn't care if the whole thing sucked, though. The fact that he could get out of the house was a relief in and on itself. Even if the entire night consisted of bad 1980s music and standing awkwardly against a wall, it didn't matter. It was time he could spend with Graham and Mulan, away from his father's supervision.

Not that there was anything wrong with dad. Dad was great, truly. Bae knew that the only reason they'd gotten this far away from his mother was because he knew how to be careful, verging on paranoid. But after months of sharing crappy apartments, bad meals, card games, and every other aspects of their lives, it felt nice to get out from under his wing.

A party and a sleepover, this was going to be fun.

Dad instructed him to be ready by seven, and insisted that they couldn't be late because, as it turned out, Moe French had a change of heart and he had a job to get to. So no loosing track of time reading comic books, he'd said, and while that would've probably happened any other day, Bae was way too excited to get sidetracked. By six o'clock, he'd already showered and dressed up in the new suit his grandfather had bought him. Black jacket and trousers with a redish shirt (dad called it burgundy, but whatever). There was a tie to go with it, but Bae decided he didn't need it tonight.

He spent the next hour sitting on his bed, his back stiff, fearing the slightest relaxation might wrinkle the perfect suit. He tapped his foot on the floor – dad insisted that he had to wear the nice shoes, not the sneakers – and waited. When he finally heard the front door open and close, he all but leaped from the bed.

Downstairs, grandpa was complaining, “...and I am not a babysitter, Junior. You'd do well to remember that.”

“God's sake, dad, I got here just on time.”

“Exactly. _Just_ on time. I need to get going.”

Bae could practically hear his father rolling his eyes. “Don't worry, I'll fetch my son and we'll be out of your way.”

“No need to fetch,” Bae said, coming down the stairs two steps at a time. “I'm already here.”

Malcolm and his father looked up, and while Malcolm reacted to the sight of him in a suit with blessed indifference, Rumple's eyes began to shine and his voice became a sugar-coated sound.

“Oh, Bae!” he said. “Look at you!”

Bae stopped in the middle of the stairs. “Dad, please, don't say it.”

“You're becoming-”

“I'm begging you.”

“... a little man.”

“Oh god,” he groaned, turning red.

Sometimes it felt like he couldn't do anything without warranting his father's adoration. When it came the time to teach him how to shave, he was probably going to cry.

“He's not a debutante, Junior,” Malcolm said, sounding amused by his son's reaction. “Let the boy breathe a little.”

“Yeah, thanks Malcolm.”

Rumple didn't listen, though. “You're lucky I don't have a camera.”

“Don't I know it.”

“Where is your tie?”

“I don't need a tie.”

“No, no, it's not complete without a tie. You have to get it.”

“ _Daaaad_ -”

“For goodness sake. _Here_!”

Malcolm stepped up pulling his own tie over his head and shoving it around Baelfire's neck without untying the knot.

“I can do that,” dad tried to say, as Malcolm began adjusting the knot to the right length.

“I let you do it, you'll take fifteen minute trying to make it _perfect_. It's a silly school dance and I have a date.”

“You have a date?” Bae asked, wrinkling his nose at the thought of his fifty-something grandfather actually having a romantic life. Shouldn't people stop going on dates after, like, thirty five?

Malcolm gave him a poignant look. “Do you have a problem with that, laddie?”

“No. Sir.”

“Good.”

He let go of his tie and Bae caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror when he went to fetch his coat. Okay. He wouldn't admit it out loud because dad would never shut up about it... but he looked damn good in a suit.

Perhaps someone else would think so too.

“Now, that is much better,” dad said.

“Yes, yes, he's a prince. Now!” Malcolm cut in, practically pushing them towards the door, “Enjoy your dance, enjoy your ridiculous job, don't show up here before midnight.”

Once the door slammed behind them, Rumple said, “Don't say your grandpa is old. He doesn't like it.”

“I didn't _say it_.”

“Well, don't think it so loudly next time. He picks up on these things.”

The van was parked just a couple of blocks down the street and Belle jumped out of it when she saw them coming. Dad whispered, “Don't ask her about Gaston, okay?” though Bae didn't have to be told that. It was clear she'd taken what had happened on Wednesday badly. Belle looked nothing like the young woman who'd embraced the season of love when the week began, ditching the red in favor of a baggy brown sweater and faded blue jeans. Not that Bae could blame her. He was about to say hi and maybe ask how she was doing when he got close enough for her to get a good look at him.

“Oh my god, look at you! You're like a perfect little gentleman!”

 

*

 

Belle didn't want to make a fuss about it. Not too long ago, she'd been Baelfire's age and she knew that having grown-ups staring at you with googly eyes and talking about how much you'd grown in the last five seconds was just about the most annoying thing an adult could do. But she couldn't help it. Bae looked absolutely _adorable_ in his black suit.

“You are such a handsome young man!” she beamed. “Isn't he a handsome young man?”

“He sure is,” Rumple agreed. “He's lucky I can't take pictures.”

“We should probably get going-” Bae tried, only to be interrupted by Belle's loud announcement, “ _I have my cellphone_!”

Bae hung his head low and had to bite his tongue not to let out a bad word.

Belle insisted. “C'mon! Please! Just one picture for your dad. He'll be _so_ sad if he can't remember this moment. Won't you, Rumple?”

“So very, very sad,” he said, and went as far as to pout at the boy.

Bae glared at him, but gave in. “Fine! _One_ picture.”

Belle draw her cellphone from her pocket and aimed at them before Bae had the chance to change his mind. Rumple brought him closer with an one-arm hug. Though he was displeased with all the attention he was getting, the boy still managed to produce a smile. “There we go! That wasn't so bad, was it?”

“Can we please go? I'm freezing.” Bae asked, rubbing his arms more to get them moving than because of the weather.

“Yes, of course. Your carriage awaits, my liege.”

Belle opened the back of the van with a curtsy, revealing a second set of seats and an absurd quantity of flowers. Graham was already sitting inside, suited up and ready to go.

“Hey, Neal.”

“Hey, man.”

“Did they give you the whole 'you're so grown up' speech?”

“Yup.”

“Me too,” he said, sounding bored of the whole affair. “Mom cried. Twice.”

Bae hopped in, claiming, “Parents are weird, man.”

“So, are you guys excited?” Belle asked, once both herself and Rumple were settled in the front and he started the van.

“I think you're more excited than me, Belle.”

“Yeah,” Graham agreed. “Like, it's fun and all. Free pizza. But I've done it last year already and it's kinda... meh.”

“Hey! We just spent our entire afternoon folding origami hearts and covering the school gymnasium in glitter and balloons,” she said, feigning a stern tone that made the boys' frown break into laughter. “You better get excited and you better have fun.”

“Fine, Belle,” Graham agreed.

“We'll do our best to enjoy it. Promise.” To his father, he asked, in the most serious tone, “So you do origami now.”

“You're very welcome,” Rumple said. “What _is_ a Valentine's Day party without five hundred origami hearts?”

“It's _most_ essential,” Belle said. “We've also learned a lot about cupcake displays.”

Rumple shook his head. “Let's never talk about the cupcake display. I'll have nightmares with that thing.”

Belle groaned. “Oh god, boys, that display! We had to do it three times before Mother Superior was satisfied.”

“I bet the kids will tear it down in five minutes,” Rumple said.

“I think two is a more accurate estimate.”

“I side with Belle,” Bae said.

Graham raised his hand. “I side with Belle, if they're chocolate.”

Belle shook her head. “All that hard work.”

“Welcome to the joys of raising kids,” Rumple said.

“So what will you guys do with all of these flowers?” Graham asked. “Like, there're _lots_ of flowers here. Shouldn't you have dropped them at the dance already?”

“We did. These are left overs. We're going to sell them at the Rabbit Hole,” Belle explained. “The goal is to get rid of it all.”

“Can you do that? There's a lot of flowers.”

Rumple looked at her, awaiting her expert opinion on the matter, given that she did that every year.

Belle smiled at the boys through the rear mirror. “Do you boys like horror movies? I hear there's a horror movie marathon on TV. Once you get to Graham's house, you should watch it.”

She didn't want to talk about the Rabbit Hole. Or flowers. Or anything work-related for that matter. It felt good to forget Valentine's Day for a little while and just focus on the boys.

Once, going to the Rabbit Hole had been her favorite part of Valentine's day, where she could share a drink with the girls and unwind. Tonight though, she didn't want to think about it. She was doing it for her friend and her father, and not because she cared for love or flowers. If anything, she felt more like plucking petals and cursing Cupid's name than celebrating the season.

The boys were going to have fun, though. She might be bitter – in fact, she'd remain bitter for as long as she could; perhaps next year she'd be ready to forgive the holiday for all the crap it had dumped on her – but this wasn't about her personal feelings. Bae and Graham deserved to have a good time.

“Okay, gentlemen, here we are,” Rumple announced, pulling at the curb.

Belle looked at the gymnasium. Everything else might be bleak, but at least they'd done a good job at decorating it. Sure, it was tacky, with the balloon arch welcoming the students at the door, and the bright pink lights awaiting inside, but it was Valentine's Day. It was supposed to be a little tacky.

“You boys be careful and have fun,” Rumple said.

“Thanks, Mr. Cassidy.”

“And stay inside!”

“We know.”

“Yeah, we know, dad.”

“We'll meet you here at eleven.”

“ _Okay_ , dad.”

“And we will take you to Mrs. Humbert's house to-”

“We _know,_ dad! Can we go? Please?”

They opened the door and hopped out quickly.

Belle shouted out, “No, boys, wait! I have something for you!”

She got rid of her own seat belt and stretched to reach the closest bouquet, from where she plucked two white roses. The boys stared quizzically at the flowers when she offered them.

“Uhn, thanks?” Graham said, accepting one. Bae followed suit. “But what is it for?”

“You know, to give it to a girl you like.”

It was dark outside, but she could still see Baelfire's mortified expression, contrasting with Graham's deadpan. “That's so cheesy, Belle.”

“Uhn, yeah, no, we don't need it,” Bae said.

“And besides, it's between friends.”

“We don't have anyone to give them to.”

“Boys, I'm not asking,” she said, interrupting the litany of excuses. “Just saying that it helps to be charming sometimes.”

“But if you don't like anyone, you can just put them on your lapels,” Rumple suggested.

“Oh yes, you'd look so very cute. Do that.”

“Okay, bye Belle!” Graham said, pulling Bae away from the van. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Anytime, honey! You boys have fun!” she shouted, a little too enthusiastic. Once she had her seat belt fastened again, she looked at Rumple to tell him to go, only to notice the way he was looking at her. “What?”

“Nothing. I'm just so happy I'm not the most embarrassing parent in this vehicle.”

 

 


	7. Sunday

The week could not be over fast enough, and yet it seemed to linger, dragging each of its final hours into what felt to Belle like an eternity. Had she known Saturday night would suck that much, she'd have left the van at home and spent her night watching a slasher movie in bed while stuffing her face with junk food. It wouldn't have made much of a difference where sales were concerned and she'd have felt much better.

They set up the van in the Rabbit Hole's parking lot and Belle explained to Rumple that they did this pretty much every year. It was a good spot to sell flowers to forgetful boyfriends, pick-up artists, and, invariably, Dr. Whale, though he usually fell into one of those categories. This year, however, they were taking the van back just as full as it had left the store.

Other than Whale, Ariel and Anna were nice enough to buy a bouquet each to celebrate girls' night out, more out of friendship than because they actually needed them. As for everyone else, they didn't bother wishing them a good evening as they walked pass the van with their noses up and disapproving looks on their faces. Given that some people had the nerve to confront her about what had happened on Wednesday, Belle was glad to be ignored. Babette, an idiot girl a couple of years older than her and who'd been in love with Gaston since high school, went as far as to shove a finger in her face and tell her, “You should be ashamed of yourself! Leading him on like that just to humiliate him in public!”

Belle barely had time to get over the shock and shout back, “ _I_ humiliated _him_?” before the other woman walked away looking very proud of herself. It made her blood boil with the heat of bad decisions – such as grabbing Babette by the silly bow she had tied to her hair and throw her on the tarmac – when Rumple rested a hand on her shoulder.

“Leave it, Belle,” he said, in his usual, soft voice. “There's no point in causing a scene.”

“Sure would make me feel a lot better,” she mumbled, but took a deep breath to calm herself down. She had to keep her head above her shoulders. Rumple was right. Initiating a catfight outside a pub wouldn't help her reputation and would only result in a broken nose, probably her own. She sat in the back of the van and warmed her hands in the portable heater. “I cannot believe it's only nine o'clock.”

“It'll be over before you know it.”

“I don't want it to be over. I want it to be obliterated from the calendar, and then I want to leap straight into St. Patrick's Day, so I can drink my feelings away without guilt.”

“Can't come too soon,” he agreed. Then, he eyed the pub. “I don't believe they'd trade flowers for liquor.”

“They don't. Ruby and I tried that when we were seventeen. We only got the scolding of a lifetime.” She smiled at the memory. “The stupid things you do when you're a teenager.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Long list of bad decisions?”

Rumple rotated his ankle and Belle could hear cracking as he did that. It wasn't a pleasant sound and every time she heard it, he winced. Spending the entire week driving that van and now being out there in the cold couldn't be good for his leg, whatever it was that was wrong with it.

“A fair share,” he whispered, and Belle almost didn't hear it.

“Yo! Belle! Are you coming in or what?”

She looked up in time to see Sean Herman being pulled into the pub by one of his friends, who urged him, “Dude! Don't you know what she did?”

Belle rested her boots on the bumper and hugged herself.

Rumple glared at Sean and his friend and said, “Don't mind them, Belle. Men are idiots, especially when they're that young.”

Belle indicated his ankle with a nod. “Was that a... boyish misadventure from a silly young man?”

She smiled with a little tease to take the sting out of the question, though she doubted it sounded any less invasive.

“No, I was old enough to know better,” he said, eyes focused on his ankle. At least he didn't sound offended. “I fell down the stairs when I was twenty five and took too long to go to the doctor. It didn't heal right, so...” He tapped the end of the cane to the side of his shoe. “Now I'm stuck with this thing.”

“Sorry.”

“It's fine, I don't mind you asking.”

A car parked right next to them, a group of women cackling inside, but the moment they got out and spotted her, their lips went shut and they didn't utter a word until they entered the pub.

“Seems like no one is going to buy anything from me,” Belle said, forcing a positive tone into her voice. “What do you say we burn these?”

“I can't deny it would be therapeutic.”

“That it would be.”

“Why don't you wait in the front? It's warmer anyway, and I can manage this by myself.”

Belle knew it was rude to accept his offer and leave him alone to work while she did nothing for the rest of the night, but she still said yes. The less she had to deal with people, the less likely to commit murder she'd be.

She kept an eye on the side mirror and sometimes she could spot him pacing the tarmac, his limp very pronounced. He said he had vast experience both as a driver and delivery man, but she couldn't see how that was fitting to his disability. One week in had clearly taken its toll. If he could work from a shop, that'd be different. At least then he could rest, and he clearly had a way with clients, from what she could see. Working on something so straining couldn't be good for his leg, and these things only tended to get worse when untreated.

Belle was so distracted wondering if she could find Rumple a more suitable job that she didn't notice Keith on her window until he knocked on the glass, startling her.

“Did I scare you?” he asked, smiling in that predatory way of his that made all the alarms in Belle's head start blasting. “What are you doing inside, Belle? Come and join the party!”

“I'm fine, Keith. Thanks,” she said, turning away to discourage him. She knew by experience that, if you tried to be nice and let him down gently, he'd only see it as a challenge and push harder.

It didn't work and he knocked again, a little more insistently.

“C'mon, Belle! The time for licking your wounds is over.”

“I said I don't want to.”

“She said she doesn't want to,” Rumple repeated, taking a step towards him. Belle could see half of him on the side mirror; next to Keith, he looked even smaller than he already was.

Keith seemed to have noticed that as well, because he eyed him from head to toe with a little smirk on his lips.

“And who might you be?” he asked.

“We're working together,” Belle told him.

“How nice.” He looked at Belle again. “But you're not doing much work right now, Belle. Come inside with me. I'll protect you from any idiots who want to give you a hard time.”

Belle thought of the pepper spray Ruby had given her, still lying in her purse. Right now, she was itching to give it a try.

“How very altruistic of you,” she said. “But as I said _twice already_ , I'm fine right here.”

Keith placed a hand on the van and leaned closer. Belle was glad the window was only cracked open and he couldn't come in. In a lower voice, he said, “You know, you don't get the luxury of being picky now that the whole town thinks you're a bitch.”

“Oi!” Rumple said, his voice growing into a warning even though she could see his hand shaking on the handle of his cane.

Keith ignored him completely.

“And yet,” Belle said, without even batting an eye, “I'd rather freeze my ass in this van than go on a date with you.”

“We'll see how you feel in a couple of months,” he said, dropping all niceties.

“You heard her,” Rumple said. “She's not interested.”

Now Keith turned his full attention to him. “Are you her chaperon, tough guy?”

Keith took a step towards Rumple and Belle got ready to jump out of the van. Keith was known for preying on sad or drunk women just as much as for starting fights he could easily win.

Before he could do anything, though, Ruby's voice called his attention. “Hey! What are you doing?”

Keith froze in his tracks. His answer was much quieter. “We're just talking.”

“I think it's time to stop talking and go inside. There are several women who'd love to get a chance to throw a drink in your face.”

Keith glared at her but knew better than to pick that battle. He might stand a chance against Rumple but if he laid a hand on Ruby, there'd be a long line of men ready to avenge her – that was, if Granny didn't get to him first.

Belle climbed out in time to hear Rumple ask, “Why are men so scared of you?”

“Wouldn't you want to know?” she grinned, looking at the both of them from the top of her gigantic heels. Despite the short skirt and the fact that she'd refused to button up her coat, she didn't seem to be cold.

“You're gonna get sick, Ruby,” Belle said.

“Don't be Granny. This dress was too expensive to be hidden under a coat. I was just on my way to meet Ariel and Anna. Are you in?”

“I'm not the best of companies tonight. Though I doubt we'll sell much more.” She indicated the van, still packed with flowers. “Seems that no one wants to buy flowers from a pariah.”

Ruby made a “pff” sound and told her to wait while she went inside. Not three minutes later, several young men were forming a line to buy her a bouquet. They might be taking Gaston's side, but none of them would pass the chance to try and win Ruby over.

Despite the turn for the best, never had Belle felt as happy as when they finally drove back to the school to pick up the kids, signaling that her hellish week was finally over. She even felt her heart flutter when she saw Graham and Baelfire coming from the gym, ties loose and eyes sleepy. It was enough to bring a smile to her lips.

“Look at our boys!” she beamed. “How was the party?”

She received equally vague “Fine...” answers from both of them, though she suspected it had been a little more than just that. Bae still had his flower and was wearing it on his lapel, but Graham didn't, so he'd probably gotten friendly with a girl. Not that Belle was surprised. Unlike other boys his age, Graham was not afraid to talk to girls and he was growing up to be a handsome young man. That was always a dangerous combination.

Rumple was the one to ask, “What happened to your flower, Graham?”

“I lost it.”

Belle looked at Rumple and realized that he too didn't buy that for a second. Any other day, she might have teased him about it, but tonight she was too exhausted to say anything else and they drove in silence.

Graham and his mother lived in one of Gold's worst properties, a three-story building near the cannery, where Ylva Humbert worked. There was always something in need of repair and sometimes, depending on how the wind blew, you could smell the fish from the cannery, but Ylva was not a woman who liked to complain.

She was waiting for them downstairs, wrapped in a shawl that made her look like a little old lady, despite the fact that she was in her early thirties. She always seemed more gaunt in the winter and Belle reminded herself to stop by sometime next week for a chat, see how they were doing and if she needed any help at all.

Graham gave her a kiss on his way inside and quickly disappeared upstairs with Bae. Though they'd talked earlier, Rumple still got off the van to remind her that he'd be back in the afternoon to pick his son up and emphasized that, if his mother showed up, he shouldn't be allowed to go with her.

Ylva seemed sympathetic to that and Belle heard her say, “Divorce is a terrible thing sometimes, isn't it?”

Rumple came back to the van, though his eyes were still gazing at the decrepit building his son had just disappeared into.

“He'll be fine,” Belle reassured him.

“Yes,” he said, though he sounded unconvinced. “I know. It's been a while since he had a sleepover, that's all.”

Rumple busied himself consulting his wristwatch and then starting the car. “It's almost midnight, I should drive you home.”

“You know, the flower shop is only a block away from Granny's. Why don't we drop you off first?”

“And who's going to drive the van?”

Belle shrugged. “I will.'

He looked at her with a frown. “You spent the entire week telling me, _repeatedly_ , that you cannot drive this van.”

“Technically, I _can_. I have a license. I'm just... terrible at it. But hey, it's the middle of the night and I could easily park it in front of Granny's B &B.”

“I told your dad I'd take the van back.”

“C'mon! How much trouble could I get into? Besides, I know your leg is bothering you. I'd hate to make you walk home.”

“I'll take the bus.”

“After midnight?”

“Belle-”

“You know I'm right,” she said, before he had the chance.

Rumple seemed willing to argue, but after considering her offer for a moment, he said, “If you total this van, your dad is going to kill me.”

“I'm not going to total the van! Dent it, maybe, but I can handle dad.”

He shook his head, then unbuckled his seat belt.

“Switch places with me,” he said. “If you manage to get us to main street without crashing, then I'll agree to it.”

“He of little faith!”

 

*

 

Belle wasn't kidding, she was truly terrible at it. Her arms were too weak to stir the heavy wheel and every time she had to switch gears, she let out a litany of curse words because it constantly got stuck. Stepping on the breaks had to be done so forcefully that the entire van bounced every time it stopped, throwing him against the seat belt. She didn't seem to have a problem guiding the van and Rumple had no doubt that she could handle a regular car, preferably an automatic with a really smooth steering wheel, but an old, rusty van with a stick was clearly a challenge. Still, she managed to get to the main street without running into a lamppost and, as soon as she drove past _Granny's,_ Belle declared, “Aha! Seems like I'm driving you home after all!”

Perhaps he should've set that bar higher.

It was just past midnight by the time they got to Gold's house. The lights were all off save for what seemed to be a bedside lamp in his father's master bedroom, which Rumple took as a good sign. Maybe his father had already kicked his lady friend out and was enjoying a deep slumber. With any luck, they wouldn't have to interact until the next morning.

“This is it,” Belle said. “My very last delivery of the night.”

“Indeed.”

“My very last delivery, period.”

She spoke with some sadness, but seemed resigned to that fact.

“I suppose you won't be working for your father,” he said.

“Granny said I can work at the B&B. And I can stay with them for as long as I want.”

“That's good. You must be very good friends.”

“We are. Practically family.”

Rumple looked at the house. “And you won't be coming here anymore, either.”

Belle shook her head. “No. I mean, we have a meeting on Monday. I think he wants to bully me a little before he finally lets me go.”

“Sounds like him.”

“But after that, I'll have nothing more to do with your father.”

“Good. No one deserves to be in debt to him.”

Belle looked at him with worry in her eyes, so he looked away. He hadn't forgotten his own contract, which lashed him to that house for the next two months.

Belle asked, “Listen, if you need a letter of recommendation, it won't be much coming from everybody's least favorite person, but I' can write one.”

“That's nice of you. But dad actually found me something.”

“That's good.”

“I'll be Felix Greene's new secretary,” he said, his words sounding as unenthusiastic as possible.

Her brief optimism died. “Is that so?”

“Yes, but don't worry. It'll probably be _just as terrible_ as it sounds.”

He tried to give her a smile, but it didn't last on his face. Belle didn't seem amused at all. If anything, she seemed suddenly enraged.

“But that's absurd!”

“It is what it is.”

“That man is a scourge!”

“True. But I cannot afford to be unemployed at the moment, so...”

He shrugged, and then slumped his shoulders in defeat.

“What will you do?” she asked, quietly.

“Work. What else can I-”

“I meant, once your two months are over. Where are you going to go?”

Rumple opened his mouth to say “Scotland” but didn't. In nights like this, his home country felt more like a silly word, a fairy tale he told himself before sleep to avoid dark thoughts and nightmares. It wasn't real. It wasn't achievable.

“I'll cross that bridge when I get to it,” he said. “Until then... well, at least Bae made friends. At least he's not miserable.”

“You made a friend, too.”

Rumple said, “I know that,” though hearing her say it flooded him with relief. He surely considered her a friend, and a very good one, but it was nice to know that she felt the same way about him.

“Come by the B&B some time,” she asked.

“I'll do that.”

“I mean it. I want to know that you guys are doing okay.”

“We'll be fine.”

She didn't seem to believe him. To be honest, Rumple didn't believe it himself, but neither seemed willing to disagree with it out loud.

“Well,” Belle said. “It was nice having you as my driver.”

He bowed his head. “Thank you. It was nice sharing this-”

“This despicable week?”

“That's fitting. This despicable week with you.”

Rumple opened the door and was greeted by the cold night air. It chilled him to the bone and, while the van was far from being warm, he was tempted to close the door again and just stay in there with Belle a little longer. However, it was already late and she probably wanted to go home and rest. With one last exchange of smiles, he leaped out of the van, warning her, “And don't crash the van.”

“I won't.”

“Your father will surely find a way to blame it on me.”

“I won't crash the van!”

Belle didn't speed away and he could feel her eyes on him as he made his way to the house, probably to make sure he got inside safe. He wouldn't put it past his father to lock the door and leave him out just because he was too drunk to remember his son was living there – wouldn't be the first time either. Alas, the door opened and Belle finally drove away, the van making funny noises while she struggled with the gear.

He limped up the stairs, his cane landing on each step with the quietest thud he could make not to wake up the old man, but when he got to the second floor, his father was standing at his bedroom door. As Rumple had thought, one of his bedside lamps was on and he was relieved to look at his father's bed, while unmade, was now empty.

“Did you have fun with your flowers?” Malcolm asked, his words a drunken slur that Rumple knew all too well.

“Not at all,” he answered. “But thank you for asking.”

Malcolm hummed with disapproval and lifted a glass of something to his lips.

“That rattletrap woke me up,” he complained.

Rumple turned on the light in his own bedroom and looked at his father. He didn't even blink at the sudden brightness and he was not wearing pajamas, but rather his trousers and a shirt, though most of the buttons were undone. His guess was that he'd just shoved his girlfriend into a taxi and then went back inside to enjoy a glass of Scotch when they parked by the house. But he knew better than to argue.

“Sorry about that.”

“You're always sorry,” Malcolm said, to no one in particular.

“Goodnight, d-”

“How's Princess?”

Rumple stared at his father, who stared right back. He didn't like the hostility of the question, but still answered, “Would it kill you to call her Belle?”

“How's _Belle_?”

“Fine.”

“Good. It's good you have a friend, Junior.”

He waited. There was something in Malcolm's words that he didn't like, though he couldn't put his finger on it. When he didn't say anything else, Rumple tried, “May I go to sleep n-”

“Let's hope you don't get that one pregnant as well.”

The question knocked the air out of his lungs and froze him in place for a moment. From his side of the corridor, his father drank his Scotch without taking his eyes off of him, as if expecting to catch him in a lie.

“Excuse me?” was all Rumple could say.

“I said that I hope you don't get that one pregnant as well,” he said, so matter-of-factly it verged on comical. “The last one already caused enough trouble.”

His mouth slacked to the floor. “What are you talking about? I work with her.”

Malcolm seemed skeptical. “Is that right? You were working?”

“Of course.”

“Just now? In her van?”

Rumple stared at him. Malcolm waited.

“So?” he pressed.

Rumple said, “She drove me home.”

“How nice of her.”

“And you're not going to keep tabs on me.”

“Last time I didn't, you found Milah. I'm just making sure I won't have to support _another_ grandchild.”

Rumple gritted his teeth and grabbed the doorknob. “Don't worry, father. I'm sure you'll have no trouble getting rid of us again.”

There was a scowl on his father's face right before he slammed the door.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this story, please consider nominating it for The Espenson Awards 2016 in the categories _Best Belle_ and _Best Holiday Fic_.


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